A Labour of Moles
by Nicholas Gardener
Summary: Bitter rivalry and malice riddle the political climate of Citaldel space and threatens intergalactic peace. When a high-ranking intelligence officer within Alliance intelligence services is killed under suspicious circumstances, the ageing secret agent Brad 'Spider' Giffard is tasked with finding the hitman. This leads him to discover an intergalatic conspiracy in the making. AU OC
1. The Prologue

**Prologue**

**Author's note: **This is a prologue written to introduce people to who are not familiar with the Mass-Effect universe to our setting. If you familiar with the Mass Effect Universe, this will not be necessary reading and can be skipped entirely.

* * *

The year is 2168 and the world as we know it is no more.

For humanity has progressed much beyond the limits it is chained by in our times. In 2148 a team of ambitious archaeologists discover a small cache of very advanced technology hidden deep beneath the blood-red surface of Mars. This turns out to be one of the most important findings in human history; one that would launch human-kind into a new era of plenty and prosperity. Within years, most lethal diseases we know today are completely eradicated and for the first time ever, energy is not at concern for human kind; for the technology we were given lead us to explore and understand the mysterious _Element Zero,_ a mysterious substance of many applications, such as giving certain exposed people super-human telekinetic abilities or serving as a super effective fuel in new element-zero power plants. Human augmentation as well as long distance spacefaring saw their outsets in the years immediately after scientists successfully reverse-engineered the Martian stash.

In 2149, however, man made an even more important discovery. The frozen moon of Pluto, Charon, was never a moon indeed. Rather, it had been a huge dormant _mass relay_ engulfed in a spherical gaol of ice for millennia. This mass relay worked as a slingshot that could launch starships into space at incredible speeds, provided they were equipped with the proper element-zero reactors. Thus began the human colonisation of space. Although the mass relays were one-way at first, humanity soon discovered that other systems had relays too, and that rapid travel from system to system was possible. And so, man did as man always has done when encountering vast amounts of unconquered lands and spread like the plague, building new homes on every new habitable planet they came upon. But as many had foreseen the days of expansion would come to an end.

In 2157 the Turians, reptilian creatures from the planet of Palaven, were encountered for the first time. Startled, the two sides began firing at each other, killing many on both sides. Thus followed the First Contact War, the first intergalactic conflict humans ever were involved with. Even though the technology of the war-faring race of the turian was leagues superior to that of mankind's, the brave soldiers of the Systems Alliance, the united earth government, held out, until the Asari and the Salarians stepped in and worked out a peace-treaty. The turians were not the only other intelligent race in space, and they were not the first to expand beyond their own planets. Appearently two other races, the frog-like Salarian and the hermaphroditic Asari had come before them, and eerily enough, also done so by salvaging ancient technology. These three races, the Turians, the Asari and the Salarians had formed the Intergalactic Council, a giant confederation of these three races', the Elcor's, the Hanaar's and the Volus' governments. The Elcor, the Hanaar and the Volus were only client races, however, and were not allowed any seats in the council. They were, however, given the rights to have diplomats that could represent the interests of each race in the giant space-suspended capital and political main hub of council-space known as 'The Citadel'. Such would also be the fate of humanity, who were now granted the right to have people and diplomatic emissaries live in The Citadel. Humans were quick to discover, however, that things were not that different from home. Speciesism riddled the political environment of council-space and the three council-races were interlocked in a cold-war scenario, where they all strived to be the dominant one, seeking to undermine each other through espionage and political foul-play. Beyond the borders of Council-Space lured the Terminus Systems, a loose confederation of space-faring races, that could easily wipe out Council-Space, were they able to set their petty differences aside, stop in-fighting and unite against them. It could be argued that it had been better if humanity had never discovered this new intergalactic society. For the future was an uncertain one.


	2. The Honeypot

**The Honeypot**

**Author's note: **This is the first chapter. I have already made the plot synopsis, but feel free to PM me with advice, as I am open to suggestions. Also, feel free to leave reviews as I like those, regardless of their contents.

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The air was hot, humid and oppressive as it perpetually was inside the sleazy nightclub Eternia. The lighting was constantly shifting and changing colours. The lamps were flashing with strobe-effects that could make anyone, regardless of toughness, nauseous. The music was pulsating through the room, making it resonate with the throbbing sounds of the speakers, transforming its walls into giant over-sized membranes shivering with vibration. At deafening amplitudes the sounds of 'Dyxyr Beats' quavered its raw, electronic sound throughout the night-club, drowning out all other unwelcome sound. Their savage tribal rhythms compelled the mindless patrons to dance like ecstatic husks, devoid of any thoughts, in what looked like complicated mating rituals, flailing their arms and legs around agressively. They were like maniacs afflicted with some kind of mentally degrading virus; a virus of salvation that along with the drugs and booze helped them forget all about their daily troubles. Vespus was all too familiar with this kind of salvational rapture. He knew how it could reel you in, grab you and never let you go. He knew how strong the influence of the thumping noise could be. How it could chew you up, spit you out and grant you joyful bliss all in the same evening.

He recalled hanging out in places like these all the time when he was but a young, inexperienced pup. Back then, of course, the music had been much different, the bitches much prettier, the drinks much better and the hounds more beastly; now, Eternia seemed strange, perverse and almost alien to him, like a pussified parody of its former self, its existence in of itself being an abomination, a blight upon the good name of what it had used to be. These were new times and everything had degraded since the golden days of Vespus' youth, the days of wild hounds, raw strength and youthful vigour. Vespus smirked, realising the hypocrisy in what he was thinking. He recalled his own father having babbled on about something similar back in the day, boastful of his own accomplishments and conquests, only to be told that he was an 'old jerk' by a young hot-headed Vespus. Maybe Vespus himself was just becoming an old idiot like his father had been, he thought to himself. It wasn't all bad these days. The drinks were good and the hircine smell of sweat coming off the backs of lustful partygoers lingered on from the days of Vespus, which he found comforting somehow. At least the repulsiveness of organic beings hadn't changed. Strange, that something so disgusting could be so nostalgic. "Here's to my old man – the miserable prick" Vespus thought to himself and sipped on his drink, enjoying the bitter-sweet taste of cheap alcohol mixed with cheap sugar and cheap fruits. He emptied his glass and signalled the barkeeper that he wanted another. The salarian poured him another in the matter of seconds, using his congenital hair-trigger reflexes. Vespus had a certain respect for those weird frog-people. They might not have been able to live past 50, but they could think on their feet and react faster than any other race. He would give his right arm to know how they did it. His left too, if he could have reflexes like that. Maybe they had two extra brains in those horn-like pieces of flesh and cartilage that protruded from their heads, he pondered. He could feel the salarian's large, wide slit, horizontally oriented eyes watch him intensely as he paid the salarian without making eye-contact. Vespus took his drink and leaned against the counter.

"Damn. It must be getting late" he thought to himself.  
He could only hope that the contact would show up while Vespus was still able to leave the nightclub on his own. He had a tendency to get a little too drunk if left unchecked. The dancebeat intensified, building up towards the climax.

He calmly looked around, checking if anyone of interest should have entered while he hadn't been looking. Vigilantly, his eyes scanned the room for new people only to come across the faces of the same Asari he had seen before, moving their slender, sweaty bodies seductively to the pounding dance-beat like devilish sirens. The only thing that had changed was that a human had thrown up in a corner and now lied unconsciously on the floor in a puddle of his own sick. He sighed, looking down on his hands, studying the almost artfully cut scars, as they were highlighted by the ultraviolet lighting that now filled the room, fleetingly bathing the club in an eerie atmosphere before going away. He remembered how he had acquired each one of them. They were like his beautiful souvenirs, reminding him of all his deeds of violence and passion.

It had to have been a couple of hours since the agreed-upon meeting time and Vespus was getting a little drunk. Maybe the contact wouldn't show up. If he didn't, others might. And as he sat there thinking, it finally came. The climax. The music stopped for a brief while and all the dancers froze where they stood. It sent shivers down his spine. 'Damn, the DJ's pretty skilled' Vespus thought to himself with a grim grin on his lips. The music resumed, thawing the frozen dancers who began moving again, carrying on in their euphoria. There was still no sign of the contact. Maybe it was better just to go home, have a cold shower, find a nice buxom asari harlot, lie with her and find something else to waste his time on.

He could not, however. There was no other way this time and he knew it. He had disappointed the council with his methods before, but they always let him walk because he had gotten the job done. If this went south, so did his entire investigation and all the things he had done would have been for naught. He would just have to be patient and wait it out like a man.

Another 15 minutes went by. He could feel impatience creep up upon him like a dark shadow, stalking him, watching him from a distance. He knew that he wouldn't be able to wait much longer unless he found something to distract himself with. He discreetly scanned the room with his eyes again to find something interesting to do while waiting. He spotted a young purple asari dancing at the middle of the dancefloor, teasing his eyes with her slow, flirtatious movents and luring him in with her exquisitly curvacious body. She wore a red dress that left very little to the imagination and a provocative smile that invited anyone to approach her, if they thought they could handle her. Hot like napalm, untamable like a lioness. There was a time when Vespus would roll himself in ladies like these but he was getting old and way too scarred. He needed to keep on looking, if he wanted to stand a chance.

His eyes fell upon something perfect not too far away from him. Three seats over, another Asari sat solitarily, staring vacantly into her empty glass, looking like she desperately needed some company. Her thoughts were distant and she was untouched by the music. She wasn't the most attractive knock-out in the bar, but then again, neither was he. He observed her as she sat there, playing around with her bracelet out of boredom, having nothing better to do, while silently wishing for someone to entertain her. The sad look in her eyes spoke volumes of her loneliness and unfulfilled desires. He could certainly do something about the former, and with a little luck, the latter shouldn't have been a problem either. Like a predator planning on how to take down its delicate prey, he sat on his rather uncomfortable barstool and pondered on how to proceed. His career had taught him all the tricks one needed in situations like these. That was one of two good perks of his job, the other one being the good payroll. After some time the Asari seemed to notice his starring and returned his gaze. He sent her a discreet wink and her blue eyes lit up. It was as if two dormant suns were set ablaze after millennia of inaction, finally ready to outshine all the other stars in the sky. Her soft, moist lips formed a warm, welcoming, yet shy smile, revealing her beautiful white teeth, creating a fine contrast to her skin, like beautiful white clouds on a blue sky.

Bingo.

She was his for the taking, teeming with the grace and pulchritude that Vespus valued ever so dearly. She shyly looked down into the counter with a coy smile, breaking eye-contact before looking back up, returning his eyes with a flirtatious glance. She was opening herself, making herself receptive. Now was the time to move in. He smirked, took a sip of his drink and prepared to make his move.

Before he could utter as much as a word to the Asari, whose name Vespus had yet to learn, a being sat itself down right next to him, catching Vespus completely off-guard. Vespus turned his focus to the human male right next to him. He looked like a friendly person and had a kind face, especially for a human. He was dressed like a businessman, wearing a black coat, a white shirt with a green tie and black gloves. His brilliant blue eyes complimented his black hair, welcoming you with a certain friendly radiance that only the eyes of few humans possessed. Still, he had that serious look about him that people have when they are on important business. It was hard to make out due to the throbbing beat of the loudspeakers that drowned out all other sound, but it seemed that the human asked Vespus his name. He hesitated before giving the stranger one of his many pseudonyms.

"Linitherax" Vespus replied with a distrusting look in his eyes. "I assume you must be Ivan" he said. The person nodded, confirming his identity as the contact.

"Indeed" he said loudly, in his thick accent, trying to speak over the music. "You want few drinks before we go to business?" he asked in a friendly voice. Vespus felt relieved; this was the real deal. Finally, his efforts would have paid off and he could get his break-through.

He looked upon the lonely asari one last time and sighed before turning his attention to Ivan. He was too close to the truth to waste another second. "Nah, let's just go. I don't want to waste any more time in this club than necessary. The only reason I wanted to meet you here anyway, is because it's discreet" Vespus replied.

"You no like it here?" the contact asked.

"You are quick to perceive, my friend" Vespus replied, laughing slightly. "Nah… After having spent a goodly part of my life in The Spintop, I have grown tired of its dark underbelly" he continued. Vespus kept his game-face on, but couldn't help but sound a little unconvincing when telling such a lie. Vespus lived and breathed for the night-life of Omega, but he had to play the part. "Seeing the stuff people can do to each other around these parts will do that to you, you know".

Vespus finished his drink and rose from his seat. "But that is a story for another time. Let's make like the wind and get out of here" he said, wincing slightly from the bitter taste of his drink.

"Okay. I know place where we can talk safe" Ivan replied in what Vespus now had noted to be rather broken English. He thought it was weird for a race to have multiple languages. That could only complicate matters, he could imagine.

As the dark leather coat-clad couple exited from the doors of Eternia, they were greeted by the neon-lit skyline of Omega-by-night, in all its sleazy reddish glory. It was easy to see why Omega was known to many as "the most beautiful cesspool in the universe". The great space-suspended city had an exquisite display of neon signs on its buildings, each luring in people with more and more alluring temptations, whether be it whores, alcohol or financial advice. It was a nasty, crime-filled hell hole, yet it was beautiful in its own perverse way like no other place in the universe. It might have been noisy and filled with the sound of flying cars speeding over one's head, but it was the good kind of noisy; the sexy kind of noisy. It was as if the city was a big, savage beast, roaring at you, bursting with raw, primitive energy, ready to pounce on you at any moment. Vespus had to admit that the city was like a personal femme-fatal to him. It drained him of all his money and energy, yet he missed it when he was away, when he had obligations elsewhere. Even though this was an anarchist haven controlled by warring gangs and rich crime lords, it seemed much better than the bureaucratic Citadel, where everything was calm, consummate and clean. At least Omega could offer you some excitement. Also, in Omega, the strong ruled the weak, unlike Council space where everything was up for vote, people wasted their time discussing unimportant thrash and rich, bureaucratic pen-pushers ruled. "Wow… I sound like one of those batarian assholes" Vespus thought to himself.

As the recently united couple began strolling down the great main-street of Omega, making their way through the crowd of people making their way in other directions, Vespus noted the time. It was three hours past the time they had been supposed to meet, which meant it was a good thing that he had always been so patient. It was, however, to be expected. People in Omega were more liberal when it came to meeting on time. After wandering a bit, passing by the many inviting brothels and colourful bars of the streets, they made their way to an old, sleazy tower block in the lousy part of town, far away from the parts of town that saw any activity..

Seven minutes and a shaky elevator-ride later, they were at the door flat 38, one of the flats on the top floor. Ivan took out a key and opened the door, allowing him and vespus entrance to the apartment. The flat was odorous and the maroon wallpaper was coming off, but Vespus could tell that it had used to be a nice place once. It was relatively large and it had at nice panorama window with a good view of the blushing city skyline. One could even see Afterlife from here, towering at the top of the horizon, emitting its sinister influence. The interior decorating in the apartment was also quite nice, if not a little run-down and mouldy. It could certainly use at little dusting off but besides that, it looked like a place Vespus could live, if he didn't have obligations to the Citadel. Vespus sat himself down in a nice but dusty chair near a painting of a bowl teeming with exotic fruits from distant planets while Ivan helped himself to the mini-bar. Vespus could not help but think that one of the fruits looked more than a little phallic, but maybe that was the idea. Ivan took two glasses from the closet and a bottle of fine scotch. He looked at Vespus while pouring into his own glass, nodding his head at the other as to ask Vespus if he wanted a glass. Vespus shook his head.

"No thank you. I had enough at the bar. Besides, anything with levo-amino acids will kill me" he said with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yes. I forget. You must excuse me. I am not used to work with aliens." Ivan replied with a slight laugh, turning his back to Vespus to gaze at the gawkily fetching horizon while imbibing his drink.

Vespus scanned the room with his eyes. Next to him stood a small table with a little audioplayer, but besides that, there weren't much one could have hid a bug in, besides maybe an oddly shaped lamp that stood in the corner, also looking disturbingly phallic. He was getting the sense that either an asari or a human with tacky tastes had decorated the flat. He could tell that this was the kitchen and dining room as it had an oven and other cooking apparatuses. It also had a quite annoying clock, ticking away on the wall, without any regard for anything else than just fulfilling the sole purpose of its existence. The other room, where Ivan was sipping at his drink and the minibar was found, had a huge couch whose colour was a little hard to make out due to the dim light.

"No problem, mate" Vespus answered.

"Now, not to be too straight-to-point but did you have those documents for me?" Vespus asked, breaking character a little.

Ivan took a sip of his glass. The clock made several ticks before Ivan answered. Impatiently, Vespus was at the brink of asking again only to be interrupted by Ivan answering his question.

"Yes. Look in wall, behind picture" he said before sipping on his drink once again.

Vespus, stood up from his chair and removed the painting carefully, revealing a safe behind it.

"The code is 2157" Ivan said, instructing Vespus from the other room.

Vespus punched in the code and the door swung aside, revealing the contents of the safe. Finally, right before his eyes was that which Vespus had been searching for all these weeks: a paper trail leading straight to the bad apple. He took the fresh paper file and opened it, reading the numbers and words intensely, scanning it for what he was looking for. While he was reading, Ivan came into the room having finished his drink and sat himself opposite Vespus. After some reading Vespus was puzzled if not bewildered. Something was wrong. All wrong.

"This checks out…" he said hesitantly, gobsmacked at his failure to find what he was looking for.

"Yes…" Ivan replied coldly.

"But… You told me that this would have proof confirming my suspicions about the Triangle and the Penthouse! This proves nothing!" Vespus exclaimed, slamming the file shut, frustrated with his new discovery.

Ivan, staying as calm as ever looked Vespus in the eye.

"Relax, Vespus. Turns out we were wrong. I made a mistake. That is not a problem. Is good thing" he said and shrugged.

"What do you mean 'it is a good thing'? Now I'll never be able to prove my suspicions to the council! If I go to them without evidence, they'll never take me serious again!" Vespus rebuked, totally breaking character.

Ivan sighed.

"Look. I only promised I had documents on the whereabouts of vessels and money and that is what you're looking at right now. I didn't promise there would be anything good in it. Besides, is good thing when you think about it; it proves we were wrong. That is good thing… right?"

Vespus paused. Thinking about it, it might actually be preferable to be proven wrong rather than right in this case. He calmed down. That didn't mean that his suspicions were wrong though. The only thing it really meant was he had run into a dead-end.

"Yes… Yes, I suppose you are right" he said having found his calm. He kept a calm exterior and got back into character while his thoughts were running loose inside his head.

"Of course, friend! I always am!" Ivan said with a smiling laugh, his friendly warmth having returned to his eyes. The shift came shockingly swiftly but it was welcome.

"Now I'm going to the mini-bar. I am going to fix myself a drink. I have something for turians too… You want some?" Ivan asked with a smile.

Vespus paused before answering. "Yes. To celebrate that I was wrong" Vespus replied. He was trying to solve the puzzle inside his head.

"To you being wrong" Ivan said and headed into the other room with a broad smile on his lips.

While Ivan was fixing the drinks, Vespus was left pondering. Something was amiss. Something was rotten. Something in what Ivan had said to him. He had an eerie feeling that something was wrong; he just couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. He went through the files again. They were clean. Too clean. His contact at ASIS had told him to compare them to the other transactions, but there was no discernible patter to be found. Something was wrong. Document after document showing perfectly inconspicous numbers, almost as if they were designed to look as mundane and irrelevant as possible. There were a few holes in the other two, that fitted incredibly well together, but this seemed to be water- if not air- tight. What was wrong? Ivan came in from the other room having a drink in each hand. Meanwhile a maelström of thoughts spun in Vespus' head. Ivan sat down on the chair opposite him and placed the dextro-friendly drink in front of him. Could it have been that the Penthouse just wanted to distract him? Why him? And what was it that the man sitting in front of him had said, that was out-of-place.

"So is that the conclusion then; that we had it all wrong?" Vespus muttered.

"Well..." Ivan said. "You have the papers right there in front of you. To be honest, I had hoped that it would have a little more meat on it, too. I mean, I'm risking my own hide here. I will be a fugitive from now on" Ivan said in a curiously calm voice.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I can have the SPECTRE's give you a new life somewhere far from where anybody can get you" Vespus said.

"That's nice of you" Ivan said and took a rather large sip of his drink. "But I have other plans"

"Like what? Where do you go from here?" Vespus asked.

"I'll make a deal with some private company for a lot of money and settle down here on Omega. These files might not be of much value to you and I, but the information provided within them could prove useful for certain private businesses" he answered.

"Well, this place beats the citadel" Vespus said.

"Sure does, Vespus" Ivan said.

Then it hit him like a shredder-round fired from point-blank range hitting his skull, smearing his brains all over the place. Now he regretted not bringing a gun. He should just have trusted Monarch and gone directly to him. Fuck it, if this was the end, one might as well go out with a bang.

"Well, this all looks fine and dandy" he said looking through the papers. He begun sweating a little. He prepared himself for what was likely to come.

"but I would like to ask you one last question if I may. You know, just to clarify things" Vespus said in a cold voice.

"Okay. Shoot" Ivan said while raising an eyebrow.

"How the fuck did you know my fucking name?!" Vespus asked with a confrontational tone.

"What?" Ivan asked, the warmth in his eyes leaving again.

"I said; how the fuck did you know my real name, when all I gave you was my cover?"

Ivan stared at Vespus like a deer caught in the headlights of a car for a few seconds while the clock ticked away.

"Oh, fuck it" Ivan exclaimed, his dialect changing suddenly into an American one. He reached into his inner pocket for a handgun. He drew his gun incredibly fast, but no faster than it took Vespus to throw his glass of alcohol in his face, blinding him.

"Jesus, fuck!" The hitman cried out in agonizing pain as the glass shattered against his face, drawing blood from his kind features. Before he could react, the Turian was upon him and planted its huge fist right in his glass and blood-riddled face, right between his eyes. It made an audible thud as he fell backwards on his chair. He was quick to get back on his feet. Too quick. Luckily for Vespus, he didn't get his gun back up with him. Before the otherwise well-trained turian could manage to react, the human responded with a low blow straight to the liver. Vespus could feel all the air leaving his lounges. The puch was followed with a head-butt, which sent the Turian plummeting to the floor. This human was not normal. Somebody had augmented the fuck out of him. The dark-haired man rushed up and kicked Vespus while he was on the ground, sending him straight into the wall. As fast as Vespus could, he regained his footing. The assassin rushed him, throwing a punch straight for his face. Vespus, however, dodged and responded with a mean cross, which made the hitman lose his balance. Vespus followed up with a powerful round-house kick to the jaw, which sent him nose-diving. The Turian grabbed the man by his collar and slapped him hard.

"What's your name? Who sent you, you little shit? Where's the real Ivan? Where's the file?!" he inquired.

The hitman spat a thick mix of blood and saliva right into Vespus' face.

"Fuck you, lizard. You have no idea how deep this goes. You're just fumbling around in darkness having no fucking idea about what you're fucking doing" the hitman said stubbornly.

Vespus hit him again. Thrice.

"Listen; we can do this the easy way or the hard way, smooth-skin. Which do you prefer?"  
The hitman looked Vespus defiantly in the eye.

"My way!" he exclaimed before head-butting the turian, loosening its grip on him. He got himself free and ran for his gun. He picked it up. Just as he had turned around, aiming his gun at Vespus, the latter spat acid right in his face. He fell to the floor once more but not before blindly shooting off three rounds, two of them penetrating Vespus stomach ripping a huge gory hole through him.

Vespus let out a blood-filled gurgle before his body hit the floor.

"Fuck! My legs…" Vespas cried, looking down his blood-soaked body. What he saw horrified him. He was cut in half. The gunshots had separated his legs from his torso, smearing his entrails halfways across the room. He could feel his blood pouring out of him, painting the floor blue.

"Fuck!" he cried in panic and pain. "Shit… what the… motherfucking fuck?!". Vespus could feel his guts slowly running out of him in a thick, gooey mass. He tried to hold it in with his hands, but it escaped through the spaces in between his clawed fingers. Defiantly, he held himself from passing out, even though he was getting tunnel-vision.

The hitman rose from the floor wiping his face of the blood, acid and glass that blinded him.

Vespus coughed blood and cried something incoherent as the hitman finally regained his sight. He knew this would be it. He could feel death creeping up upon him.

"Jesus!" the hitman said, sporting a severe nosebleed. "You shoudda' just have bought the fucking story, you damn turian shitstain!". He cocked his gun and pointed it right at Vespus' head.

"Any last word, asshole?" the hitman asked him.

The Turian spat blood, that ran down his chin and down on the floor.  
"yeah… face up or face down?" the wounded turian asked, clinging on to life by a few fragile straws.

"What?" the dark hitman asked in confusion.

And so the last words of Vespus Surlax were "Well, I just wanted to know how you like your ass-rapings for when I see you in hell, cocksucker…"


	3. The Penthouse

**The Penthouse**

* * *

"Spider, if you close the door we'll begin shortly" Monarch said from his comfortable red leather chair at the opposite end of the long, imposing ebony table. Spider complied silently, entered the room and closed the door behind him, shutting it with a still clout. He was met by the faces of his colleagues, glancing at him for a brief moment before their eyes wandered elsewhere, going about their businesses. Right next to the seat that was soon to be occupied by Sir Spider, sat Timothy 'Barghest' Fitzgerald, the suave and charismatic leader of Clandestine Operations and scribbled something on a white piece of paper. He looked neat and clean, having sleeked his lush raven hair back across his scalp as per usual. He was neatly shaven and soignate, yet a slight wound showed itself on lower left side of his chin, indicating that he might have been in a hurry that morning. Playful figures of smoke dancing in the air spoke as silent witnesses and testified that he had just finished a cigarette before Spider had entered the room. The rake cleared his throat and corrected his red tie before scribbling on, distrubing the white veil of smoke, breaking it like a membrane being punctured as he leaned forward. Right next to the old bon-vivant sat the old, grey Sir Gabriel 'Mr. Smith' Smith, acting as a stark contrast to the youthful neatness of the former. He was the oldest member of the group and in charge of Industrial Espionage. While he might have looked very old and frail, looks were deceiving, as he was very competent and was largely the sole reason human companies were up-to-date with the previously much more advanced alien ones. He wore his old dusty brown suit, as he had done the last several years without ever buying a new one or bothering to have it cleaned. Skimming through a paperfile on the table in front of him, he scratched his white, ungroomed moustache and hummed a jumbled little tune, that sounded like an off-key version of the old classic, 'My Funny Valentine'. He licked his bony thumb and turned the page, squinting through his small slim glasses as he glanced over the next. On the directly opposite side of the table sat Sir Hollis "Little Man" Walliam, the little balding imp in charge of Military Intelligence, wheezing for his breath like a rabid dog. One could see the protruding veins on his head as they stood out like a purple nest of serpents on his balding scalp. His face was near violet and he was sweating heavily; that was the price one paid for being obese, drinking too much coffee and smoking two packs of cigarettes every day without excecising what so everr. He had always been an unpleasant person but he got the job done, being the true professional that he was. At Little Man's left, Anderson 'Watchdog' Finch, the dark-haired, densely built afro-american leader of Diplomatic Reporting sat in his chair, doodling on a piece of paper, looking very absent-minded. Finch had a hard time staying inside the small windowless room, having been a claustrophobe since childhood.

Most senior officers of the Centre Block were thereby present and another dreary weekly meeting could commence.

At the very end of the table sat the ageing director of Alliance Secret Intelligence Service, Monarch,sporting his unkind face with dark, rough complexions and greying hair with high tendons. He was scrathing his chin and looked like he was deep within his own thoughts, going some details over in his head. He had brewed himself a can of coffee which spread a pleasant and calming odour throughout the room.

Spider found himself inside the little box of a room known as The Penthouse, named so because it was placed on the very top of Centre Block, the headquarters of ASIS. The soundproofing of the room took away so many beautiful variations of vibrations in the air, killing it, making it uncomfortably bleak and stale that one almost couldn't even hear one's own thoughts as they were absorbed by the thick layers of porous latex material on the walls. Spider found his way to his black chair at the rectangular table, carefully placing himself at the table as not to do any damage to the old ebony antiquity. He put his khaki trenchcoat on the backrest of his chair, took off his black gloves and laid them neatly on his lap, putting them to rest just above the knees. He corrected his large spectacles, pushing them up by the bridge with his index-finger and turned his attention to his boss. Immediately, he noticed that Monarch went unshaven that morning and his eyes were bloodshot. His tie was awry, he had not buttoned his waist-coat properly and from the smell of it, it seemed quite unlikely that he had bothered to take a bath.

"Okay. Most of us should be here now" Monarch said with an exhausted voice, sounding like he neither had the time nor the energy to be there. He had probably been up all night smashing his head against the wall doing some important negotiating, Spider figured. After all, he did also have the position of diplomat on the citadel, a position that came with many responsibilities indeed. " Okay, if you gentlemen wouldn't mind, I would like to get this over with; I have a very important meeting with an informant in the STG later on and I didn't really have a good night's sleep". Being obviously tired, he said the words with little enthusiasm and slurred them.

Monarch looked to Walliam first. Monarch did not really look like he wanted to speak to Little Man at all. The pair of them had never seen eye to eye.

"So, which kind of news do you have for us, Walli?" he asked the little obese man. Walliam looked through some of his papers for a brief moment, looking for notes that did not exist as Walliam never bothered to bring or write notes.

"Well, nothing groundbreaking, I'm afraid" he mumbled, after giving up his futile search, turning his fat little face and small squinting pig's eyes towards Monarch.

"Frog Man has updated some of his freighter-class ship's armour, but he does that all the time. He also seems to have increased funding for his navy, having ordered a lot of new ships from private contractors" he said looking back at monarch. "Some of our crackers hacking into salarian military intelligence databases were compromised, though, and might have to keep low for a while" he explained.

Monarch sighed and drank a little coffee from his mug. It had writing on it, written by a child's rather unrefined hand, saying 'Galaxy's best dad'.

"Is there any way that Frog Man might have discovered the identities of our crackers?" Monarch asked, leaning back into his chair.

"Yes, but my guess is that it's unlikely that he did" Walliam replied.

"Fine. Did they sweep up anybody?" he asked.  
"No, sir"

"Good. No harm done, then. I expect you to pass your information on to Alliance Navy HQ and try to see if you can find another way into the salarians' databases. Just don't take any foolish chances, okay? Oh, and change the crackers' ID's and relocate them to safehouses on earth for at least a month."

"Understood, sir" Walliam said and nodded.

"Anything else, Walliam?" Monarch asked.

"Uh, yes. It seems that the Asari are moving some of their ships closer to salarian territory. Nothing big, but Frog Man might get pissed about this all. I have cooperated with Diplomatic Reporting on this one but they report no signs of mounting conflicts between the salarians and the asari as a consequence of this"

"Maybe they are looking to secure some mineral-rich rocks near salarian space or something to that effect. I suggest you keep an eye on that too." Monarch said. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper.

"Here's the name of a Salarian contact. He should be able to help you out" Monarch said, handing Walliam the piece of paper. "The number underneath is the extranet channel on which you will be able to contact him"

"How about you, Fitzgerald?" he asked, turning his attention towards Barghest.

"Well, we've had a little more... shall I say 'success'?... with Frog Man" he said in a tone that sounded much more suave and cool than that of Walliam's. Even though they were related, Fitzgerald and Spider were as night and day, the former being a charismatic bedhopper and the latter the epitome of boring bureaucratic professionalism.

"We have 'extracted' some scientists from Olor" He said explaining with a crooked grin. "We believe they were working on some kind of spy-software we might be able to use. They have not told us anything yet, but they'll be interrogated further and repatriated" the young intelligence officer said. "If possible, that is. If not, we'll dispose of them"

"Good" Monarch replied. "But they are more use to us alive. Treat them gently. Anything else?"

"Yes sir. We have reports that the prominent turian clans of 'Wexerrus' and 'Igshroth' are in a struggle for mining rights on one of Palaven's moons. We have prepared a false flag operation that will stage the death of Vespus Wexerrus at the hands of Veles Igshroth. As the Igshroths have very strong ties to the top of the hierarchy and the Wexerrii do not, we might be able to 'motivate' some of the latter to join our cause. This might especially be beneficial in case of future wars, as the Wexerii have lots of allies in the colonies" Timothy said.

"Indeed. They would make excellent sleeper agents. Have you got anything else?" Monarch asked calmly, leaning himself forward in his chair, elbows on the table.

"Nothing I can discuss with you while the others are here" Fitzgerald said.

"Okay, that's very good" Monarch said and took another sip of his hot coffee."Oh, there's another matter we need to discuss. It's not that important now, but we might want to see how it develops" he said.

"All of you in here, who follow the news will be familiar with this; Frog Man, the Asari and the hierarchy have just come to an agreement on something called '_the Veritas Initiative'._ No one is certain what exactly it is, but it seems to grant the SPECTREs unlimited access to the intelligence archives of all the citadel races. However, this does not include all the client races, meaning that _we _actually won't have to cough up any information" He said. "Now, some of my men on the inside have told me that this should be nothing to worry about since the SPECTREs don't seem to care much about us; however, they also said that this is a move that, while it may weaken our competition, will strengthen the council's interests. Seeing how we don't have any representatives in the council, this might be a rather bad thing"

"Yes, I heard about that on the news" Gabriel said "It might be a good thing, actually. I mean, it won't affect us and it seems like it would be the first step towards more cooperation within council space. Win-win, you know" he shrugged.

"It seems rather odd" Fitzgerald said, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't see why they would do something like this. Since when have any of the council races ever cared about putting the interests of the intergalactic community over their own?" Fitzgerald asked in his calm voice. "Also, It'll be a cold day in hell, the day Triangle would ever agree to anything like this. After all, it'll put them in a slightly weaker position, and that..." he paused and turned his jade eyes towards Gabriel. "... is the last thing they would want" he said and smirked slightly.

"Exactly what _I _was thinking" Walliam exclaimed.

"The council races have never been able to agree on nothing. Their little spooks in the Triangle on even less. You think they're best buddies just because their intelligence high-ups meet up once in a while to jerk each other off? Well, I've got a surprise for you, because that shit don't mean shit 'cause whether you like it or not, they're all still sworn enemies and would never agree to be set at a disadvantage. Not unless they secretly were looking to fuck somebody over" he argued in his thick New-York dialect.

"Well," Finch said "they say it will make it easier for the SPECTREs to put organised criminals in gaol. Could it be that it ain't just spin when they say that?" he suggested.

"In this game of shadows, everything is spin. If this was about putting perps in the nick, it would have been C-sec that had given this kind of authority" Monarch said looking down at the surface of the table, studying the fine carvings in the dark brown wood.

"And what if the game is finally changing?" Gabriel asked, pathetically hopeful in voice.

"Well, no matter what, I think we ought to watch if there's any new developments and act accordingly, should there be any. I just wanted to hear you lot's opinion on the matter" Monarch concluded. The rest of the people around the table nodded their heads in agreement.

"Okay, Gabriel. Your turn" he resumed with a slight sight.

"Okay… let's just get this over with, then" Gabriel said with his usual positive disposition, looking up from his paper-file.

"We'll start out with some of the funnier stuff" he said, smiling broadly from under his big greying moustache. Spider could not help but smile a little also. Gabriel had always had a good, endearing sense of humour so this was probably going to be rich. Everyone turned their attentions to the old man.

"Well, apparently Finch, you need to brief some of your guys a little better before sending them in to deal with other races. An undercover access agent in salarian counter-intelligence sent me an urgent message being all fire and brimstone, yelling about how incompetent our men were and so on" he said.

"When I asked him what he was talking about, he told me that some of our assets in the citadel had attempted to recruit diplomats using human swallows. A good idea, if not for the fact that salarians don't have sex-drives. This led to some very awkward situations where some of our broads would try flirting with completely oblivious salarians. It says here in the report that 'Any advances went straight over their heads'"

The men around the table chuckled for a few seconds. Even Monarch drew a slight smile upon his face. It withered and died seconds thereafter, absenting itself. Walliam, however, was not amused.

"Wait a second? You find this fucking funny?" he said in disbelief. "I'm tired of these reports about untidy affairs coming from the DR department!" Walliam yelled. He had always been a pottymouth.

"Relax. There was no harm done to none of our assets" Finch said, trying to calm down Walliam. His efforts were in vain and failed to calm down the fat blob.

"Maybe this time. But what about next time, huh?" Walliam retorted, now even more unbelievably red in his face than before. "This is _your_ department screwing up yet again. Don't make me remind you what happened on Palaven just last month"

"Hey!" Gabriel said, being a little upset. "That has nothing to do with the case at hand!" he cried with an old man's trembling voice.

"It _is_ a little odd that these things only seem to happen with _his _men" Fitzgerald added, unphased by his collegues' raised tempers. "Maybe it's time that we took another look at his abilities as an administrator" he said looking Finch in the eye. "Or maybe we should have itsy-bitsy Spider here turn some rocks over and see what crawls out from underneath them" he said and nodded at Spider.

"How... Dare you" Finch said, clearly taking umbrage at Fitzgerald's statement. "You smug-ass little motherfucker. Here I bust my arse off, recruiting people in high places and yet, you dare question my abilities as an intelligence officer? You dare question my loyalty to the Alliance?"

Spider remained silent in his chair, the reflections in his glasses obscuring his eyes. The dear Mr. Finch's frustrations were understandable, but Sir Fitzgerald and Sir Walliam had a point. His performance as a leader had not been optimal lately and he seemed to have become more of a liability than an asset. Too many times, incidents had occurred that had put the alliance's political position in jeopardy, the most recent of which had been the one on Palaven, where three agents were executed for trying to blackmail a Turian general. Someone had apparently tipped OSSR off, compromising their covers. Spider had investigated the case but found nothing that had led him to any leak inside ASIS.

"Oh, and why the hell not, Anderson?" Walliam asked. "Your intel is bad, your performance is bad and you take stupid risks that gets our men killed! For all we know, you could be a double-agent!" he continued.

"Guys... Please" Gabriel pleaded. "Giffard investigated that case and found nothing that lead to Finch. You guys know how good he is. If Finch had been anything but air-tight, surely Spider would have told us"

The Palaven incident had not been the first time, far from it. Before that, there had been the failed bribery of the dalatrass Menoi, where salarian secret police had rolled up the dalatrass and all of Finch's assets. Other incidents, too. It seemed that most of Anderson's operations had struck by a streak of bad luck lately.

"Let's be fair, Walliam" Fitzgerald said. "He's probably not a double agent" he said with a smile upon his lip and debonair warmth in his eye. "All I'm saying is that someone were close to him in his department might be. It might also just be his lack of abilities that might be to blame for this" he said, standing as cocksure as ever.

"How dare you!" Finch cried and jumped from his chair, outraged at Fitzgerald's remark.

"Enough!" Monarch yelled and slammed his fist into the table. Everyone fell quiet and turned their attentions to him.

"I will not hear another word of your pesky infighting. We have plenty to deal with _without_ fighting each other" he said angrily. "Finch's abilities are not the subject of this meeting. Is that understood, Walliam?" he said in a strict voice and looked at Walliam.

"I understand, Monarch" he replied. "But we have to consider..."

"Good" Monarch said, cutting him off.

"We'll discuss this matter no further" he declared and looked over at Gabriel, sighing slightly. "Okay. That was fun. What else have you got?" he asked.

The meeting went on for another excruciating hour. Spider didn't put his black gloves back on before he stepped out of the elevator going down from the uppermost level of the old Peace Tower. The fresh air stroked his face gently, cooling the man down after a long day's stress and commotion. The wind sung its wonderful aria as it blew past him, telling him tales of the many places it had been before traveling elsewhere. He paced along the tarmac, reflecting on what they had talked about during the meeting. It was hard not to feel a little sympathy for Mr. Finch. He was known for his good work-ethics and while Spider hadn't actually worked with him for very long, he seemed like a competent and trustworthy gentleman. However, the proof was always to be found in the pudding and Mr. Finch's results were far from perfect. As much as Monarch seemed to trust Anderson, it would seem that, perhaps, Monarch's trust was unfounded

"Giffard!" an all too familiar voice cried out behind him. He turned around and was met by the amicable and gentle eyes of Anderson Finch. Anderson was wearing his blueish grey coat and had his hands in his pockets, sheltering them from the cold of november. Spider raised a brow as he turned around, facing his colleague, whom approached him from behind.

"Why, hello Anderson. How can I help you?" Spider replied in his rather monotonous voice.

"I need to talk to you, Spider. I might need your help with something" he said, looking over his shoulder. He was short of breath and sounded rather stressed out.

"Well, I _do_ have an appointment in a few minutes" Spider said looking at his watch. "Is it work-related?" he asked looking Anderson in the eye through his colossal glasses.

"Well, not strictly" Finch said. Spider paused a few seconds before replying.

"Could it wait until tomorrow then?" Spider asked. "I have an appointment"

"I would prefer to talk this over now" Finch insisted, looking over his shoulder. Spider looked at his clock once again for a brief while before continuing.

"Fine Mr. Finch. Lay it on me" Spider gave in.

"Do you want to go somewhere where we can talk in private?_"_ Finch proceeded to ask him. Spider looked him in the eye. He obviously meant it. It seemed rather important, but Spider just did not have the time.

"Oh I do not have the time for that kind of business right now, especially if it's not work-related. I can see, however, that there is something you wish to get off your chest. Why don't you give me a call by tomorrow and we will talk it over"

"Well..." Anderson said and looked at his feet. He paused a little before speaking once again "That'll have to do, then... I'll see you tomorrow" Anderson said, in a voice that was slightly deeper and less joyful than before.

"That is good to hear, Anderson. Good day to you" Spider said and turned his back on his colleague. Spider had taken a couple of steps in the other direction before he once again heard Finch's voice call out for him.

"Oh, Giffard!"

Spider turned around and faced his colleague once again.

"I just wanted to thank you... I read your report from your investigation of the Palaven incident. You were actively defending me, standing in my defence against walliam's accusations. That was my ass on the line in there; had you not put in a good word in for me, they might have sacked me" he said with a sincere look in his dark eyes. "Or worse"

"Well, you are not a double agent, now are you?" Spider asked, taking a few steps towards Finch.

"No, of course not" Anderson replied.

"Neither did I think so" Spider replied. He looked Anderson in the eye for a brief moment before he turned his back on him, and slowly went down the concrete walkways down towards the city centre.

* * *

Frog Man = Code name for the salarians, akin to the name 'Jerry' used when talking about germans during WWII.  
Penthouse = The heads of Alliance Intelligence. Named after the fact that they sit in a room on the very top of the Peace Tower.  
Centre Block = ASIS HQ  
Crackers = Hackers working for ASIS.  
Swallow = Female agent trying to recruit foreign agents by means of sex or seduction.  
Spin = Propaganda


	4. The Loose End

**The Loose End / Death of A Hollow Man**

**Autor's note: **Thanks for all the positive feed-back. I really appreciate it. However, I would also like if you pointed out some of my lackings. If I'm not corrected on my errors, it'll be hard for me to progress as an author.  
Also, I have added a lot of material to the previous chapter, as I thought it was a little too short and the flow of the conversations wasn't quite right. You might want to revisit it.

* * *

A noise was buzzing in the distance, shrill as harpy's song, perforating the sweet, clear notes of ' the mass in c minor' that spawned from the audio player in the living room. Spider, who was just finishing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, black pudding and toasted bread recognised the sound as that of his phone ringing, loudly announcing that someone out there wanted to speak to him. He stopped eating, listening carefully with a surprised expression on his face. No one usually called him at this hour and much less on a saturday. He checked his watch and sure enough, the time was no more than 08:43. When the phone rang again, he put his cutlery neatly on his napkin, rose from his chair and walked hastily to the phone in the living room. He snatched the wooden handle of his old muscovite phone and lifted it to his ear.

"Bradford speaking" he said with a slight hint of excitement as he picked it up.

"Bonjour M. Giffard. This is Sarah. I am calling from the reception" said a woman's voice, different from the one he in all likelyhood had been hoping to hear. "Do you have a moment?"

He scratched his forehead. He recognised the voice as that of the quebecoise receptionist, Sarah Depardieu, whom he knew quite well, as she attended the same church as he and Fitzgerald did. She was a young blonde with a kind face and beautiful azure eyes that complemented her beautiful red lips and oblong chin. The poor, young woman had come to the church when she fled her violent, abusive husband, seeking refuge from her spouse. She had been pregnant but had lost the child when her husband had laid his hands on her, kicking her one too many times in her stomach, triggering a miscarriage. She had sought solace in the house of our savior, refusing to go to the authorities; from a distance he had heard her cry in front of the image of the gracious madonna, while she believed she was alone, blaming herself for the death of her unborn. He sat in the aisles, rosary in hand, when he heard her cries of lamentation echoing in the church-hall like the tormented cries of a wronged woman they were, the grey skies crying along with her, shedding tears on the stained glass windows from without. As he sat there, knowing that all he had to do to help her would be getting out of his seat and walk over to her, he just kept fumbling his rosary, silent as always. She never even knew he had been there.

He had told Fitzgerald of the young woman in distress. The husband died in a car accident a few days later.

"Oui, bien sûr. Comment puis-je vous être utile Mademoiselle Depardieu?" Giffard asked in fine french, facilitating the conversation with the receptionists, asking how he could assist her.

"Je suis désolé si je t'ai réveillé, mais un homme anonyme a laissé un message pour vous. Voulez-vous entendre le contenu du message?" she asked, revealing that somebody had left a message for him. He couldn't help but raise a brow.

"Oui, s'il vous plaît. Lisez à haute voix pour moi" he said, asking her to read the message out loud. Sounds of papers being shuffeled through sounded through the phone before Depardieu read the message out loud.

"_I know it's your weekend, but I need to see you at The Octagon. We have matters to discuss - Monarch_" she read to him in her gentle voice.

Giffard understood the message's meaning and nodded his head submissively in silence.

"Monsieur? Vous allez bien?" the young woman on the other end of the line asked him.

"Oui... Tout va bien, merci. En cas une 'Sharon' vous demande où je suis, dites-lui que je suis au bureau" the old man said and hung up. He went to the kitchen, cleaned his plates, put them back in the kitchen cabinet, went to the bathroom, combed his hair, shaved and brushed and flossed his teeth as per routine.  
He found his black leather gloves, his tie, his coat and his vest and put them on, like a knight would his armour and studied himself in the hallway mirror. He starred at his own reflection for a few minutes before he sighed and went out the door. He left his safe haven, shutting his apartment door carefully behind him.

Half an hour later, Giffard was walking through the Hall of Honour on his way from the Old Library of Parliament to the Confederation Hall where Monarch was awaiting him. Normally, Monarch would ask Spider to meet him at his office, but at other times, it seemed that Monarch liked meeting up in other areas of Centre Block, perhaps because he like the gothic-revival architecture of the four hundred year old building. He passed the beautiful white gothic arches in the ribbed vault ceiling in a hurry, without even looking at the exquisitely carved Tudor rose and fleur-de-lis sporting ceiling-bosses. Even though Giffard was a man who enjoyed the small details in everything, he was a man who took his job very seriously. He knew that time was always of the essence; things could go sour if one did not tend to business immediately, especially in Giffard's line of work.

He reached the end of the corridor and punched the access-code into the security terminal, prompting the huge, secured door to swing aside, revealing the huge octagonal room that laid behind it. The room was divided by limestone clustered arches into eight bays of different sizes, themselves divided by dark green syenite pillars. Truly, this room with its carved centre-pillar, inlaid floor of white and green serpentine marble and fetching perpendicular gothic arches was one of the most beautiful rooms in the entire building and struck anyone who entered the room with a sense of awe.

The room was rather dimly lit as the day had not quite dawned yet. Only a single beam of light penetrated the easternmost window and bathed the room in a frail yellowish light, making it rather hard to make out colours and see the otherwise fine details of the room's fine frieze below the equally dainty cornice. Monarch stood spang in the middle of the room, leaning against the large white pillar, wearing his brown, striped three-piece suit with coffee-spots. He nodded welcomely as he saw Giffard.

"Brad. I am so glad you came. I was not sure if you had received my message" he said with a friendly yet serious expression in his face as Giffard approached him. The hall resounded with the sound of Giffard's footsteps almost as if it warned everyone of his arrival.

"Well, you know me, Don. Ever alert" Giffard replied with a slight smile on his lips. Monarch responded by smiling right back at him. They shook hands, showing their mutual respect.

"It would be a shame to claim otherwise, friend" he said, pulling a cigar from his pocket. "You would not mind if I lit one, would you?" he asked.

"Of course not" Giffard replied rather insincerely. He knew how much Monarch enjoyed his little unhealthy habit and saw no reason to deny him a good cuban cigar. Monarch's left hand went to his pocket, searching for matches as he put the cigar in his mouth.

"Look, I am really sorry that I have to pull you in on a saturday and then this early at that, but we have got ourselves a slight problem on our hands" Monarch said through the side of his mouth. The stopped leaning against the pillar and stood up proper.

"I had imagined as much" Giffard answered. It was unusual for Monarch to meet up with him personally, unless something was amiss. Monarch might have been a dear ally, but the was also the bearer of the grimmest of news.

"So, what is it, Don?" Giffard asked Monarch, using his nickname. Monarch grinned as he liked when Giffard spoke to him as a friend rather than a colleague.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's much worse than just a leak this time" Monarch elaborated, failing to find any matches in his pocket.

"Damn, I forgot to bring my matches. You shouldn't happen to have any on you, should you?" He said, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

"Well, I have got my lighter but I believe you connoisseurs find that it would only ruin the good taste of the tobacco" Giffard teased.

"It'll have to do for just this time" Monarch said with a wide smile upon his lips. "But bring matches in the future or we'll have to reevaluate your paycheck" he jested with a warmth in his eye.

"I see. That will teach me for being friends with my boss" Giffard said as he took his lighter from his inner pocket.

"We were friends long before I became The Monarch, Brad" Monarch assured Giffard as Giffard lit his 6-inch roll of Cuban tobacco. "Hell, the only reason I rose in the ranks quicker that you did, is because you always wear those stupid glasses. The Crown might not mind them, but they creep the alliance big-wigs out, you know" He said and blew smoke out his mouth releasing the stench of the fermented and dried leaves upon Giffard. "If you took them off, they would sack me within the week" he said and laughed. There was truth in his words. Before Don had been named the chairman of ASIS, Giffard had been considered for the position, but found 'inadequate as a person, with little to no social skills'.

"So, what can an old friend do for you?" Giffard asked.

"Well" Monarch said, his facial expression changing for the somewhat more serious. "We have a serious problem on our hands. It's Anderson"

Giffard listened in silent attention, ready to soak up information like a sponge. Something had seemed off yesterday.

"His maid found him dead in his bedroom this morning when she came to his chambers with his breakfast. It appeared that he had offed himself, so she called the police immediately" Monarch said. This came as a surprise to Giffard but it also explained Finch's rather odd behavior. He might have been depressed and on the verge to end his own life, the poor soul. However, he had not seemed particularly fatigued lately and neither had he undergone any significant weight-loss, two of the tell-tale signs of depression. Monarch huffed on his big cigar before carrying on about the newly deceased Mister Finch.

"We called the police, however, and asked them to stay put while we remove all confidential files and equipment from his house. As you could imagine, there's a lot of it. This means that only ASIS agents will be found in the house at the moment. This gives us a window of opportunity to investigate the scene on our own"he explained, exhaling smoke from his dreadful cigar once again. "...and that just what we'll do"

Giffard hesitated before asking Monarch: "Why would we not trust the police report?"

"It's not that I wouldn't trust the police report. It's that I would want some things left out of it..." he said, staring at the window from which the dim light originated.

"Like what, if I may ask?" Giffard inquired.

"All the good stuff" Monarch said, turning his face towards Giffard. "See, I don't really think that this was a suicide. That would just be too... coincidental. I think it was wetwork and I think it has something to do with all the failed operations he has been having lately" Monarch disclosed with a grim look upon his face.

Giffard nodded, indicating that he agreed.

"Fitzgerald had a point yesterday, when he said that it was rather odd that all these incidents only occurred in operations that Finch had something to do with". Monarch paused before continuing. "Now, I knew Finch to be loyal, but I must admit - it all seemed rather suspicious" Monarch said, murmuring, almost as if he was talking to himself. "The OSSR being tipped off... Frog Man busting our assets... All within a relatively short amount of time and all under the supervision of the same Intelligence Officer - Anderson Wallace Finch". Monarch began pacing slowly back and forth in a little oval-shape on the floor.

"Now, that is not saying that I think he was a mole. I don't think he was" he said. Giffard was listening very carefully and observing Monarch going in circles, deep within himself in his mentation.

"But I think someone inside ASIS might be. That is why I don't want there to be a police report with anything juicy in it for the other members of the Penthouse to see - not Gabriel, not Fitzgerald and most certainly not Walliam. If I chose to trust _them _I also chose to trust the men working _under_ them and I don't know if I'm at liberty to do so". Monarch huffed on his cigar once again, blowing out smoke that would dance merrily in the air.

"This is why I have contacted _you. _You have fewer men working under you, you mostly work alone and you're damn good at your job. Besides, which of the other have I known since college?" Monarch asked with a friendly smile.

"That does not rule out that I might be a sleeper agent" Giffard said, half-jokingly.

"Being recruited before we even encountered the Turians? That my friend would make you a _comatose _agent" with a big smile on his lips.

"I see. I suppose you have a point" Giffard said, returning Monarchs smile with a downplayed grin. "So what is it exactly you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to his house and investigate it thoroughly. I want you to see if you can find anything proving it wasn't suicide. I want you to see if you can find anything leading to his killer. Also, look for any kind of evidence that might lead to the leak in his department. When and if evidence has been found, remove it from the scene and bring it to my office. Just make sure none of our other agents on the scene see you removing anything. That could put both of us in serious trouble" Monarch said.

He had a strong, awe-inspiring charismatic face when he was being very serious about something, the small furrows around his eyes becoming very obvious, reminding you that he was a strong man of much experience. It was not hard to understand why the Alliance had named him the Managing Director of ASIS.

"And should I get caught?..." Giffard asked with a calm voice.

"I will take full responsibility, but I can't promise you your safety" Monarch explained him, looking his old friend of many years in the eye, letting him know that such a scenario was to be avoided.

"I'll have a look at it" Bradford replied. "Where does he live?"

"Chartwell Road in Oakville, not far from Toronto. I will have my chauffeur drive you to the exact address"

"Fine. I will investigate the scene. See whichever leads I can find" Giffard said. "I shall call you once I am done"

"Oh, one more thing before you go, Brad" Monarch interjected.

"Yes?"

"Don't take any stupid risks. Anderson was one fine Intelligence Officer to lose. I don't want to lose two" Monarch said, extinguishing the fire in his cigar.

"Understood. I shan't take any" Spider said. He the turned around and walked out the door with hasteful steps.

As Spider left the building, his thoughts ran wild inside his head. He wondered what was it that Anderson had wanted to discuss just yesterday. He wondered if it could have been the thing that had gotten him killed. Spider had not mentioned anything about his encounter with Anderson to Monarch and had done so on purpose. Monarch was right. No-one was to be trusted. Not even Monarch. Anderson had been a high-ranking officer within ASIS and whoever could take him out, could surely also get rid of Spider or Monarch, were they not careful.

He took his portable telephone from his vest pocket and dialed his assistant's number as he went down the gray stone stairs at the Centre Block's south-eastern corner. The phone rang for a while before a recently awoken Gerard Spooner picked it up.

"Gera' Spoo'er 'ere" he mumbled slurring his words.

"Good morning, Gerard. I trust I do not interrupt you in doing anything important" he said coldly.

"Spider! No, no of course not" he yawned and sat himself up in the bed. "I was just... getting out the door"

"Good. I need to see you at the crossing between Chartwell Road and Pinewood Avenue in Oakville. Would you kindly meet me there in say... half an hour?" Spider said, masking his command as a question. He had a habit of doing that.

Gerard sighed. "Yes of course, sir" he agreed.

"Good. I will see you there, then" the old man on the other end said and hung up. Gerard put the phone back on the bedside table and fell back into his bed. Boy, was this just what he needed. He had been sitting in a dark room all week watching surveillance footage from the embassies and had really been seeing forward to the weekend. While he did not like being called in on a weekend, Gerard had a great amount of respect for his boss and got out of bed as fast as he could. Spider might have been an introvert loner of few words and a memory had made it difficult to believe that he was not transhuman or autist, but once you got to know him, he was a kind and mild-mannered man. You just had to look beyond the cold exterior of the old-fashioned three-piece suits, the big, ugly glasses and the graying, slicked-back hair.

He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He spat out the foam of the toothpaste into the sink and stared into the mirror, studying his face. His transhumanism was quite obvious, his irises being deep yellow, but these gave him the eyesight of a hawk. His arms were mechanical and unattractive to many, but they gave him the strength of a bull. Such was the life of an 'augmented asset' within ASIS. You had to pay with around 63% of all your flesh and live with being less of a looker. Yet, at the end of the day it was worth it. Few others could solve complex mathematics in their heads or could lift five times their own bodyweight.

He combed his mop-top hair and put on his clothes. He wore a suit with a slightly slimmer fit than that of his colleagues and superiors in ASIS, being slightly modern and rebellious, without seeming provocative or tacky. Most of his friends were not as conservative as many of his superiors, but besides the fact that the suit and tie were mandated by official dress-code, he had enough respect for his bosses as to not wear the psychedelic prints, highlighter colours, and mismatched patterns of his friends' attires.  
Many seemed to dislike the clothes, music and general rebelliousness of the newer generation. They valued cleanliness and order, something that was rather against the new ideals of the new generation. Spooner found Spider hard to read and what exactly the thought about it was hard to tell. Even with the expensive social augmentations that enabled him to see through most people, Giffard seemed like a silent enigma. His take on the dawning of the new era of Man was hard to figure out.

"You are late" Spider said and corrected his glasses slightly, studying the big manor in front of him whilst Gerard exited his car, which he had parked in the driveway. He stood with his side to his young assistant, not sparing him a single look.

"My bad, Giffard. I got caught in traffic" he said, now standing right next to Spider, looking at the very same building has he was. Spider was wearing a black three-piece suit and his gloves as usual. His red tie and a long overcoat fluttered in the winds as cold currents blew past him. He didn't seem to freeze at all, even though Gerard had goosebumps all over his body.

"Well, Fuck off... Now that's what I call a house. It's got to be a real rich bloke who's living in there" Gerard said, looking upon the great majestic exterior of Finch's house. The house sported a southern antebellum look, with neo-classical ionic pillars supporting the entablature, carrying the Hellenistic roof that covered the central entryway. It was mostly made of fine, white marble and had an almost hallowed aura to it as it reflected the sunlight, almost blinding you with its brightness.

"You should mind your language, Spooner. But yes... It is a nice house" Spider answered.

"I'm guessing we're about to pull a black bag, aren't we?" the young man asked, admiring the fine crystal widows that served as the only dark spots on the otherwise completely spot-less façade.

"Not today, no. In that case I would have brought more men. I brought you here to investigate a crime scene" Spider answered.

"Crime scene? Like... a murder scene?" Spooner asked.

"Perhaps. That is what we are here to find out" The old man answered, still looking at the fetching exterior of the building.

"Damn. Who bit the dust?" Spooner asked his boss.

"His name was Anderson Finch. Perhaps you have heard of him; he was one of the other members The Penthouse" Giffard answered him, finally turning towards Spooner.

"Bugger me! The guy from DipRep? Yeah, I knew him. I've got a friend who works in his department. I heard he had problems with leaks" Spooner said.

"Which is also partly the reason we are here. Monarch thinks his death might have had something to do with the leaks. I can only second that. We shall be looking for evidence of leaks inside his department, too. If he really was murdered, I think it is likely that he found the mole in his department and was killed by the traitor before he could report who it was to Centre Block" Giffard said, slightly bemused.

Spooner looked at the house once again.

"I see. But how would the mole know it's cover had been blown?" Spooner asked

"Honestly, I have no idea. I was hoping that we might find that out today" Giffard said, as he began walking up the lawn, towards the door. Spooner followed him in his tracks.

A man in black and white stepped out the entrance of the house, carrying a box with paper files. He paid the pair of Giffard and Spooner no attention as the went towards the entryway.

"There are others here?" Spooner asked.

"Yes, but they are not here for the same as we are. They are removing all confidential files from the house before the police move in" Giffard explained, trying to calm Spooner down a little.

"Oh, they are our guys, then" Spooner half-concluded.

"Yes, but I do not want you to talk to them or ask them for help in investigating" Giffard said.

"Why not?" Spooner asked with a confounded expression upon his face.

"Because we are about to do something quite illegal" Giffard said in a lowered voice, making sure no one heard him as he told his assistant what they were there for.

"What?" Spooner asked, his eyes widening as he was taken completely aback by this sudden reveal. He had never done anything illegal in the line of duty and had never though that Giffard would do it either.

"If we come across anything that would lead us to the identity a mole, we shall remove it from the crime scene" Giffard explained further. "Monarch's orders".

"I see. If we don't, the mole might get tipped off by the police report"

Without uttering a word, Giffard confirmed Spooner's conclusion as correct with a nod of his head.

The couple went up to the fine red ash door and swung it open. Inside, a neat entry hall of red and white revealed itself, in all its Italian-inspired glory and beauty. A statue stood on the red floor in the middle of a room, showing of its strong masculine body to anyone who entered the doors. Green bindweed crawled down the white walls and made a lively contrast that almost made the room, why, the building itself, come alive. Roman emperors would have envied a palace like this, despite the smaller size.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" a bald agent with extensive augmentations and sunglasses yelled as he saw the young aug and old man enter the door. Giffard found his papers from his pocket.

"Sir Bradford Giffard, Officer of Intelligence, Alliance Secret Intelligence Services, Military Intelligence: Section 5. The young man next to me is Special Agent Gerard Spooner, my assistant" he said and held up his ID.

"Oh. I see. Well, help yourselves to whatever you might need from this house. Just remember not to leave any personal effects behind" the bald agent said. He didn't look like he suspected them of anything, in fact, his face lit up when the identified themselves as friends.

"We shan't" Giffard replied as friendly as he could.

"Good. Is there any way I may help you, then?" the bald agent asked them.

"Well, yes. I presume the body is in the bedroom?" Giffard said.

"Yes, but I must ask you not to touch anything if you go up there. We don't want anyone disturbing the crime scene before the police gets here" the agent said and shook his head to emphasize how big a _no-no_ touching anything up there was.

"We just need to retrieve some papers from up there. We shall be quick" Giffard said.

"Fine. Just... watch your step, sir" the agent said a took a slight bow.

"Understood" Giffard said.

Giffard and Spooner went up the fine white marble stairs, making their way upstairs. They went through the massive mahogany door, revealing the huge bedroom of red and dark. The dark ash king-size canopy bed with rosewood linens in the middle of the room contrasted the white walls greatly and gave the room a certain sense of erotic warmth. Near the window on the far side of room, lied the horribly mauled body of Anderson on the fine persian carpet. His head had almost been blown clean of, making it very hard to identify him, shouldn't you have been told that it was indeed him. The blood had made a perversely large splatter mark on the window in front of him, reddening the light inside the room.

"Geez" Gerard exclaimed. "His head popped like fucking zit!"

"Mass-effect driven weaponry will do that to you" Giffard said, starring at the corpse of the deceased Anderson Finch.

"Mass-effect driven? The Alliance has yet to get their hands on those..." Spooner said. "You don't think Frog Man or OSSR is behind this, do you?"

"No, not necessarily. Hitmen and higher-ups within ASIS have access to weaponry like that, we just keep it a well-kept secret. Officially, humans are disallowed by the council to posses technology beyond what we have developed ourselves"

"So... You are in possession of a cannon like that?" The young assistant asked him.

"I have one at home, yes" Giffard answered.

"Then, exactly why do _I_ faff about with a gunpowder-propelled peashooter that can't even penetrate the kinetic barriers of alien armour, when _I'm_ the one that's supposed to protect _you, _should we find ourselves in a firefight?" the young assistant complained to his boss.

"Well... To be frank, it is a bit above your paygrade to be in possession of something that could get the entire human race in trouble, should you be caught with it" Giffard explained, slightly amused as he could see the illogical nature of Spooner's status as Giffard's bodyguard.

"You know me; I never get caught, Gif" the assistant said. "So where do we begin, sir?"

"Well" Giffard said, scanning the room with his eyes, trying to spot anything that looked out-of-place. "If you can investigate it without stepping in the blood, I would like you to have a look at the gun in his hand" he said and pointed to the blemished remains of Finch.

"Okay" Gerard said and stepped over to body, avoiding large chunks of brain matter on his way, and crouched before it, looking at the gun in the victim's hand.

"It looks like a gun, alright" he said, not knowing what exactly he was looking for. "Also, it has blood on it, meaning it might be the weapon that killed Sir Finch here"

"If you are not to busy wise-cracking, maybe you can check for a little yellow spot on the handle?" Giffard asked.

Gerard used his x-ray vision to check through the hand and have a look at the handle.

"Yes sir, it does indeed have a little yellow dot on it" the assistant said.

Giffard remained in silence.

"What does this mean, exactly?" the young Spooner asked.

"Well, It means that it is indeed his own gun. Mine has a red, Monarch's a blue. It's a colour code we use to make sure we can track the guns back to their owners" Spider said, deeply within his own thoughts.

"Is here any signs of struggle?" Spider asked. Gerard paused a little before answering.

"I can check for bruises but since he _is _black, it'll be a little hard to tell. I'll check though" Gerard answered.

Gerard tried to use his x-ray vision on the victims arms, but it didn't work.

"Damn. My SmartVision module doesn't work on his clothes" Spooner said.

"Of course" Giffard said. "Penthouse members all have special-made concealing clothes that can't be seen through"

"Wait. Isn't that kind of a dead give-away, then?" Gerard asked and tured his head towards Giffard while remaining crouched.

"What do you mean?" Giffard asked.

"Well, won't people know that you're spies the second they try use smart-vision on you, then?"

"We only wear these kind of clothes on special occasions. They are worn whenever we have meetings in Penthouse. We had a meeting just yesterday, so he probably died before he even had the chance to change" Giffard explained.

"Well, how am I supposed to check for bruises, then?"

"Carefully" Giffard said in his monotonous voice, scanning the room once again. Gerard rolled Anderson's sleeve up very carefully, making sure the gun did not fall out of his hand. He came upon something that sparked his curiosity.

"Well, here's something, Sir. It seem he _does _have bruises on his wrists" Gerard said..

Spider remained silent. Looking at the room, it did not look like a fight had taken place in there, yet the splatter on the window quite clearly indicated that this was the scene of death. He went up to the neatly carved wooden bedside table, glancing over the smart alarm clock and the fruitbowl teeming with deceptive, fake fruit. Two small rectangular pieces of paper dwelled on the table, catching Spider's attention. He picked them up and read the words and numbers on them before pocketing them. He scanned the floor and came upon something not very far from him. A little pile of white ash rested just next to the large bed. Spider walked over to it, picking a little of it up with his index finger and his thumb. He corrected his glasses with his other hand and studied the ashes carefully.

"Gerard" he said, calling for his assistant.

"Yes, sir?" Spooner answered.

"Could you please come over here?"

Gerard came over to his boss with a curious expression on his face.

"What is it, sir?" Spooner asked.

"Take a look at this" Spider said and nodded at the little pile of ash.

"Ash. That's odd. Do you want me to run a quick analysis?" Spooner asked.

"Please do" Spider said.

Spooner took the glove of his left hand, revealing the mechanical hand prosthesis underneath. A hole in the end of his index finger opened and a small nozzle revealed itself. He used this to suck up a few grains of the dust.

"That's odd. This is Lithium Peroxide..."

Spider kept staring at his assistant waiting for him to continue.

"It can be used as an air-purifier to clear out carbon dioxide... Alternatively, it can also be residue left over from someone using a biotic amplifier"

"Bag the rest of it. We will need to take it with us" Spider said.

Spider looked from the little white pile of dust to the corpse. He tapped himself three times on his forehead before looking back at his assistant.

"Do you see those bags over there by the closet?" he asked his assistant. Spooner took a look at the packed bags with clothes and apparel, that stood near the bedroom closet.

"Yes. Seems like he was packing his stuff, sir"

"It does indeed" the old man said putting his hands behind his back.

"Why would Finch be packing his bags if he were intending on killing himself?"

"That's right... You think maybe a biotic killed him by forcing his hand to pull the trigger?" the young Spooner asked.

Spider smirked a little. "It seems likely, to say the least. What is odd, it that he never mentioned anything about going away" he said and corrected his tie a little.

Spider pointed at the bags.

"Would you be as kind as to open one of the bags and search its contents"

"Can do, Sir" He said and went over to the bags. He opened and rummaged through it. He pulled out knitted sweater after blue jeans, almost emptying the bag before he came upon something of interest. He pulled it from the bag and held the vesture up by its shoulders, presenting it to Giffard.

"A dress" Spooner said, studying the fine embroidered silk dress. "I wonder what this was doing down there".

Spider surveyed it with his eyes. It looked very expensive and was woven from some of the finest thin red silk one could imagine. It had a long collar, long sleeves and was of ancle-lenght, looking like the dress of a sensual yet modest woman. A delicate pattern of gold and black stretched itself from the lower back, over the left shoulder and ended at the left breast.

"It's a _cheongsam. _No way Finch would have fit this, so we can rule out the possibility of it being his"

"Indeed we can" Spider said and stared at it for a little while. He eyed the dress for a few more seconds.

"Put the dress on the bed and close the blinds. I want to check something" he said. Carefully Gerard stepped over to the window and did at his boss had asked to him, dimming the light inside the bedroom significantly. Spooner minded his steps as he walked back to Giffard.

"Shed some black light on it" Giffard commanded Spooner, nodding at the dress with his hands in his pockets.

"Understood, Sir" Spooner said and peeled the other glove off. He activated a lamp in his palm and changed the frequency of the light to Ultra Violet. As he lit the dress up with the invisible light, telling white spots lit up on the chest and the crotch area of the dress, like tiny white pearls in an ocean of sin.

"I certainly hope it's not his daughter's" Spooner said with a boyish grin on his lips. Giffard observed the small flourescent spots, reflecting in his glasses like the stars in the heavens.

"Especially since this is not a human article of clothing" Spider said without even looking at Spooner.

"What?" Spooner asked and turned his head to Spider.

"This is not a cheongsam at all. It is a 'loak', a traditional Asari dress. This one belongs to one in the 'matron' stage of her life, judging by the embroidery" he explained, turning his face towards Spooner.

"An asari dress?" Spooner asked.

"Yes. A very expensive one at that" the old man nodded. Spooner tilted his head as he looked at it.

"Wait... How do you know all this?" Spooner asked. "You know nothing about fashion"

"I know a little. I have a lady-friend on the Citadel who knows a lot about alien clothing" Giffard said.

"You have lady-friends?" Spooner asked teasingly.

Giffard smiled slightly. Spooner liked when Giffard found his badgering amusing. It made the otherwise very expressionless and gray man light up a little.

"Fold the loak and pocket it" Giffard commanded.

"What? It's got spunk on it!"

"We have no time to argue" Spider said.

"Fine, fine... Just, next time we snatch something from a murder scene with somebody's man-cream on it, it goes in _your _pocket, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear" Spider replied. Spooner folded the fine dress and put it in his pocket, not five seconds passed by before the bald agent from the entry-hall came in the door, nearly catching them in the act of removing evidence from the crime scene. Spooner twitched slightly out of shock but Giffard remained as calm as a rock.

"We're leaving the building now. The police will be here soon" the slaphead agent said. "I suggest you two get out of here"

"Actually, we were just on our way out" Giffard said.

"Oh, okay then. You found what you guys were searching for?"

"I am afraid not. We will just have to look elsewhere" Giffard answered, still as cool as ever.

"I'm sorry mate. Well, I'll be going. Have a good day" the bald agent said

"Good day to you" Giffard replied

"We have to go now, Spooner. Pack the bag we opened and let us get out of here" Spider commanded.

Spooner followed orders.

The two partners walked out to Spooner car and entered it, Spooner taking the wheel.

"So, where do we go now?" Spooner asked.

"Centre Block. Monarch will be awaiting us as his office" Giffard said while typing something on his cell-phone.

"Wait... So I get to meet Monarch in person?" Spooner asked.

"Yes. I am sure you will find it quite underwhelming, though" Giffard said with one of those gratified smiles, that told one that something in what he had said was funny and only he knew why. Spooner felt quite happy. Giffard must've trusted him, if he let him meet Monarch in person.

Spooner lit the engine and took off. After having plotted the route to Centre Block on his GPS, he turned on the radio, tuning in on 'Radio Wylde' with its barb-wire guitar bands and potty-mouth disc-jockey. Giffard, however was quick to reach over and turn the dial until the speakers spewed out the soothing notes of Bach.

The radio made it hard for him to think so he turned it of. As relaxing as Monarch found classical music, it did not help him take decisions. He sat at his desk looking through some reports from Military Intelligence and Clandestine Operations. It was beyond him how deep-cover operations could be so expensive and why Mister Walliam and Sir Fitzgerald needed so many funds for their departments. However, he knew that if he did not approve their budgets, Triangle would gain an edge on them. He signed the two documents, granting the two departments the extra funds they were requesting, shameful in the knowledge he was using fund that could have been used for hospitals, roads, eldercare et cetera. Being the MD of ASIS was not always the privilege one should think it would be, and at the end of the day, it was hard not to feel a little blue over all the cynical decisions you had to make. He scanned the two pieces of paper in the scanner on his large wooden desk and mailed the copies to Alliance Military HQ. He leaned back into his large, leather armchair and sighed.

Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.

"Yes?" Monarch asked.

"There are two gentlemen asking to see you. Should I send them up?" asked the receptionist.

"Could I have their names, please?" Monarch said. A brief minute went by with silence on the intercom.

"Their ID's show them to be Sir Bradford Giffard and Mister Gerard Ambrosius Spooner. Should I send them up?"

"Yes, please do" Monarch replied.

Five minutes later, Giffard and Spooner popped their heads in through the big, heavy door.

"Brad. Good to see you" Monarch said, happy to see Giffard. "What have you got for me?"

Giffard looked to Spooner and nodded his head. Spooner understood Spider's gesture and took the folded dress from his pocket and threw it put it on Monarch's desk.

"A loak?" Monarch asked with a puzzled look in his face. "Where did you find this?"

"In a packed bag. It would seem that our friend Finch was looking to go somewhere before he was killed" Giffard said.

"Killed? So we're certain that this wasn't suicide?" Monarch asked, leaning his elbows on the desk and folding his hands in front of his face.

"It is very likely that he did not kill himself. While he pulled the trigger himself, we suspect foul play" Giffard said. "We found what I identified as Lithium Peroxide in the room, suggesting that mass-effect driven telekinesis might have been involved in his death. Moreover, he had bruises on the hand that was holding the gun" Spooner added

"Also, we think he might have been planning to travel with a lover, whom might be staying in the area. Trace amounts of semen was found on the loak" Spooner said.

Monarch pondered a little and scratched his cheek.

"Fine. Do we have any idea what the name of this lover is and where they were going? Can we rule out that it wasn't just one of those hip, new smart people from the Citadel who dress themselves in Alien fashion?"

"Yes. We do" Giffard said and took the two little rectangular pieces of paper from his vest-pocket and put them on top of the loak. Monarch read the contents of the two pieces of paper as Giffard stood silently and waited for Monarch to finish. Spooner stood in dumbstruck silence, but this was out of shock He had had no idea that Giffard had taken anything else from the crime scene.

"Two tickets for a shuttle to the Citadel... One with Anderson's name on it..." Monarch said, pausing before he went on.

"The other with an Asari name..." he said and looked up at Giffard.

"Ié T'Soni..." Giffard said, finishing Monarch's sentence. The two starred at each other, standing in silence. After a while Spooner couldn't help himself and broke the silence.

"Excuse me, but what exactly does this mean?" he asked.

"Ié T'Soni" Monarch explained. "Is one of the many known aliases of Denmana Nassus, an Asari super-spy, as high-ranking within the League of Huntresses as Giffard is within this bureau"

"Damn... that would explain the leaks in his department. The League caught him in a Venus flytrap and he spilled the beans, allowing them to pass on the information unto Frog Man and OSSR" Spooner concluded.

"Well, that would be convenient, but it's unlikely" Monarch said.

"What?" Spooner said. "Would they not pass this kind of information on to the other members of Triangle?"

"No. While they might have their little meetings to keep up an illusion of cooperation between them, their infighting is intense. They wouldn't try to hinder something that could prove harmful to any of the other parties" Monarch explained.

"So you do not think it is through her information was passed from DipRep to OSSR?" Spooner asked.

"Not directly, at least. I must admit, however, that it is very odd that she seems to have seduced Mr. Finch in a time where much information is being leaked from his department" Monarch declared. "I must admit, I wonder what she was doing here and what she has to do with Finch's death"

"Maybe we should go ask her" Giffard said.

"Good idea, but tracking her down might be hard" Monarch said.

"Call Richards down in the Electronic Data Processing Department and ask him to run a search for a 'Ié T'soni', who has checked into a hotel in either Maine, Quebec or Ontario" Giffard said.

"Good idea" Monarch said and pressed a button on the intercom.

"Yes, how can I help?" a voice on the other end asked.

"Hi Richards. Can you please see if an 'Ié T'Soni' has checked into a hotel in either Maine, Quebec or Ontario?" Monarch said.

"Just a minute..." The man said. The three men in the office waited a brief while before the voice in the intercom spoke again.

"Got it! There was a Ié T'Soni who has stayed at the Crown and Thistle Hotel by the corner of Elm Street and University Avenue in Toronto. She failed to check in yesterday" Richards said. Silence befell the three agents in Monarch's office.

"Well... That sounds like our guy" Spooner said.

"It sure does" Monarch said.

"I want you to go to the address and search for any and all clue you can find. If we're lucky, she didn't get everything with her"

Spider agreed with a nod of his head. Soon after, he turned the door-knob to room 503 and entered. The staff of the hotel had been as kind as to allow Spooner to bring his firearm with him, after Giffard had explained them that they were with Alliance secret police. You never knew when guns and bullets came handy, when dealing with biotics. Especially if you could take them off-guard.

They were met with a hotel room that was left an absolute mess. Papers with numbers and notes were littered all over the floor. The bed had not been made and it looked very much like someone had left the place in a hurry. Spooner went in the door with his gun drawn. He fumbled the wall, trying to find the switch. He found it and turned on the light.

"I give rocks to protocol, woman! If you're in here, show yourself! Don't try anything stupid or so god help me, I'll shoot your face clean off!" he yelled. There was no response. The couple went into the room, Giffard walking calmly with his hands in his pockets while Spooner was much more on guard.

Spooner went on to check the bathroom and all nooks and crannies of the room, to make sure the matron was not hiding, having his gun drawn and in front of him the whole time.

"Relax, Spooner. Had she been here, she would already have attacked us" Giffard said with a calm demeanor.

"Rather safe than sorry" Spooner replied, holstering his Glock. Giffard knelt down and inspected at some of the papers lying on the floor.

"Had she attacked us, your gun could have done little to save us" Giffard asked, picking up a note, before deeming it irrelevant and putting it back on the floor. Spooner looked around the room. It didn't look like there was anything noteworthy in here. He noted a laptop on the bedside table and went over to it.

"I fear that most of these papers are merely her files on important personnel inside ASIS. While it tells us exactly how much the Asari know about us, it will not help us with much else" Giffard said, going through the pages. "luckily, it seems that they know very little about me and much less about you"

Spooner leaned over the computer. He had unlocked it with his cranial hacking-implant and was reading something off the monitor. Preoccupied, he failed to comment on Giffard's statement, something that was not very common. Bewildered, all he could do was look at the screen, as it cast light on his face.

"Sir, I think you should take a look at this" Spooner said. Giffard turned his attention and rose. Slowly, he walked over to the computer and read off the screen.

* * *

**23-nov-2168 (three days ago)**

**[LeagueAutoPingSecure_CHNNL_5][SECURITYSTATUS_CHANNEL: SAFE]  
ESTBLSH_CNNCTN ; [10.12.34 (HQ)] ; [15.11.79 (Dnmana)]**

[Connection: Established]

[HQ][19:03] Hi.

[HQ][19:03] I need you to abort your mission. we have a situation on our hands.

[Dnmana][19:03] wghat?

[HQ][19:03] the source just contacted me. says your cover has been blown

[Dnmana][19:03] what?! fuck1 how?

[Dnmana][19:03] now what?

[HQ][19:04] source didnt say how just that finch knows

[HQ][19:04] but

[Dnmana][19:04] fuck

[HQ][19:04] source tells me that anderson is not planning on telling on you

[Dnmana][19:04] get me out of here!

[Dnmana][19:04] wat?

[HQ][19:04] the loser thinks he can defect to thessia with u

[HQ][19:04] made arragements with councillor herself

[Dnmana][19:05] ha ha ha! lol! :P

[HQ][19:05] u siure have done a good job of fuclking the senses out of him

[HQ][19:05] anywat, u need to get out of there fast

[Dnmana][19:05] u dont say

[HQ][19:05] but

[HQ][19:05] i need u to kill anderson first. we can take care of spider, monarch and barghast later.

[HQ][19:05] source said that would be for thr best

[HQ][19:06] also make it look like anaccident

[HQ][19:06] or you might get that creep spider on your tail

[Dnmana][19:06] I can handle spider; almost me after palaven incident but i outsmated him

[Dnmana][19:07] just an old four eyed loser, thats all

[HQ][19:07] him and monarch, theyre a greatr threat than ossr, just keep that in mind

[HQ][19:11] u there?

[Dnmana][19:12] Srry someone called me

[Dnmana][19:12] i'll take care or it. send a shuttle to pick me up in 2 days.

[HQ][19:13] ok. may the godess protect u.

[Dnmana][19:12] thnx

[Connection: Disengaged]

* * *

There was a silence before Giffard finally breached it with his deep, calm voice. "We should probably show this to Monarch"


	5. The King of The Stars Beyond

The air smelled like blood, sweat, smoke and tears. The air smelled like victory gained through annihilating conquest and brutal combat. It smelled like the fall of an empire. Blood painted the ground red and the corpses of his defeated foes made a scent that reeked of death and excrement. It was impossible to tell, however, whether or not his foes had shat themselves before or after they died. Telling by how the battle had been one long pursuit, mowing down retreating units, it was probably before. The firing of rifles and screams of pain could still be heard in the background. Xian Xiao felt proud; if his father had lived to know that his son would become as great a warlord as himself, he would have been proud. His father, who had founded the House of Xian, was the first to aspire to become king of the Stars Beyond Citadel Space, but it was now Xiao who would fulfil this ambition on his behalf.

A satisfied smile found its way to his lips. Legends would tell of Xiao the Conqueror's many brutal deeds. He had seen his enemy driven before him and struck down those who had challenged his divine right to rule… and those that had not. Now, he stood at the gates of the great prothean ruins that would soon be his kingly palace. _The Seat of Arhnor_ had been the seat of the ancient kings of Khar'Shan, so it was only fitting that Xiao should choose this as his seat of power. He was no longer the Archduke of Kwaigorr nor just some power hungry warlord, no, he was a king and he ruled supreme.  
"Our king!" General Ben Loawi said and wiped blood from a wound in his face as Xiao passed by him. All the soldiers outside and inside the palace knelt as Xiao passed by them, paying their deepest respects to a man they almost regarded a god of war. As Xiao went through the old stone halls, he felt like the god he knew he was; after eight long years of fighting and backstabbing, finally all Batarian lords, and even some Turian, swore fealty to him. He entered the throne room and threw his red silk cape on the floor; he would have to wear the royal purple from now on. The throne of stone, the throne he had yearned for and the throne that was rightfully his, stood right across the dark hall. But it was not as empty as he had expected.  
"Brother! So good of you to come!" Xian Egor, Xiao's legitimised bastard half-brother, said, sitting leisurely in the throne. "I couldn't quite find you on the battlefield… did you get lost?" Egor asked with a spiteful smile upon his lips.  
"Get off my throne or I shall have you flayed alive!" Xiao cried, enraged that his baseborn brother would defile his seat of divine rule. The brothers had always been rivals, and even though Xiao was a great man, whispers would tell of Egor's valour and fierceness in combat. He was called Egor the Unbowed, as he had never been defeated in personal combat, something Xiao couldn't brag about. It was even said that Xiao was craven and that Egor was the better ruler. Of course, anyone who would have claimed this would first have lost their tongues and then their heads.

Egor removed his giant muscular body from the throne and moved slowly down the stairs that lead up to the royal seat. The steps would almost tremble with every step he took.  
"Relax, my king. I was only making sure no usurper would claim your seat in your absence" he said and presented the throne to his brother. Xiao went up to the chair of state and sat down. The soldiers, that were assembled in the room all knelt before their new king.

"My Lord!" Xian Joa, the youngest trueborn brother of Xiao exclaimed as he entered the throneroom. His armour was tattered and it was obvious that he had been stabbed in the shoulder. "The lords of Garlan bend their knee and beg for mercy! The keep has fallen! The ancient Iron Crown is ours!" he said and pointed to the old, jagged iron crown in his hand. Xiao took a greedy look at it. He now knew that his foes could sooner bring down the sky than face against him.

"Then let my coronation begin! Right here, on the battlefield. General Egor, I will give you the honour!" the Batarian warlord cried. Joa handed the crown unto Egor, and Egor held the crown over Xiao's head as he sat in his throne. Egor looked back at Joa before clearing his throat.  
"Brother! My king!" Egor cried with a firm voice. "I bequeath unto you the Iron Crown of Khar'Shan and with it, the heavenly mandate to rule the world! I name you King Xiao, the first of your name and the first of your dynasty, of the Stars Beyond, King of Khar'Shan, Erszbat and Anhur, First Citizen of the Batarian Hedgemony, Protector of the realm and Warden of the Terminus! May your foes perish in fire and may your years be many!" Egor said and placed the ancient iron crown upon his brother's head. "All hail King Xiao!" he cried.  
"All hail the King!" the kneeling men yelled.  
"Thank you" Xiao said and leaned back into the ancient throne. "Now, kneel, rapespawn" he spat at his brother. "Kneel and swear your fealty to me". The disgust in Egor's eyes was less than inconspicuous, yet he knelt like the honourable warrior that he was. "Of course my king! I bend my knee to you! Know that my sword is yours and my levies are in your service, from now on and until the day I perish". Egor couldn't look his brother in the eyes while uttering his pledge, he hated him so. "Good" Xiao said in a sadistic tone.

"Men! Today we stand victorious!" the newly crowned king said. "The ancient kingdom of Khar'Shan stands once more and I am its king! With my many ships and my brave men – you – I have conquered. But my hunger for land is not yet sated, I will not linger until every living soul with a beating heart fear the Batarians and treble upon hearing our names! One day, I, and my descendants after me, shall rule the galaxy! Over a third of the Terminus already belongs to me, and the rest is mine _de jure_!" he said with an excited expression in his face.

"But we shan't conquer the rest of the Terminus!" he said, much to everyone's surprise. "No, not yet at least! For that has been the mistake of all the others in the past that wanted to become king and failed. No! I shall learn from history! Our ships shan't sail towards The Shrike Abyssal, nor The Far Rim! No longer shall the people of the terminus fare war against each other! No!" he said, rose from his seat and held a long, dramatic pause.  
".. Tomorrow we set sail for Citadel Space. And we shall Pillage. And we shall rape. And we shall…" he said and paused for a minute.

"Conquer…"


	6. Jae Richards I

**Jae Richards I**

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen" Monarch said and lit a giant Cuban cigar. "Allow me to bring you up to speed: We've had a leak at the very top of ASIS. We have no idea of just what has been leaked, but we have a pretty good idea as to who the leak is" he said to the people gathered around the small conference table in the smoke-filled room. Turned off the light an started a projector, projecting the pretty mug of Denmana on the wall and looked her straight in her eyes like a Viking warrior would his sworn enemy.  
"Her name is Denmana Nassus; she is the head of Human Affairs, the department specialising in anti-human counter-espionage," he said and pointed to the Asari's face with his cigar. "She might look like a hot babe, but believe me, Nassus is no maiden; she is a known seductress and a trained killer," he said and blew smoke out from the side of his mouth.

"Slide," he said with his firm voice. Spooner took a drag on his cigarette and changed the slides. "At some point, at what seem to be a while ago, she approached and seduced Anderson Finch, the head of Diplomatic Reporting. Presumably, she pumped him for information, although we have no evidence indicating he shared anything highly confidential. We don't know how much he has spilled, but we fear that it might have been a whole lot," he said, staring at the projection of Finch's face. "Some of our assets were able to obtain this document indicating that he was willing to defect to Asari space with Denmana," he said as Spooner began passing out copies of the chatlog he and Giffard had found in the apartment.

"Now, we have been trying to track Denmana and see if we could catch her before she reached the Citadel, but it would seem that she has already escaped. She is very likely to be on the Citadel or in Asari space as we're speaking" he said, the worried furrows on his forehead becoming deeper and deeper. "Now…" he said and held a dramatic pause. "That's not the end of it; it would appear that we have another leak inside ASIS. The chatlog indicates that a so-called _source _warned her that Anderson had become aware that she was a spy. That would mean that someone who was close to Anderson leaked this information to the Asari…" he said and cleared his throat. "Now, whoever this _source _is, he or she will be instrumental in finding Denmana and making sure her spy-ring can be properly closed. We _need_ to find him," he said and extinguished the fire in his cigar.

"Okay," a dark-haired woman, who sat at the other end of the table said. "How exactly are we supposed to do that?" she asked as if Monarch was wasting her precious time. "It doesn't seem we have many clues to go by," she said. Monarch stared at her, smiling. "No" he said and scratched his chin. "That much is true," Monarch said. "That's why we're assembling a team consisting of the very finest agents ASIS has to offer," he said as Spooner began passing documents out to the people around the table. "This will be an elite task-force under the command of Bradford Giffard and Timothy Fitzgerald. Gerard Spooner, who is present here today is a part of this task force and will be your Bridge Agent for whenever you go places the aforementioned agents cannot go. Spooner has handed out the profiles of all the people who will be in the task-force. Please review them," he said. "You will all be sent to the Citadel in a few days, under the cover of being there to attend the embassy's Christmas ball as security personnel. In reality, of course, you'll be looking around for clues as to who _the source _might be, starting by keeping a close eye on the Asari embassy"  
The group fell silent as all the people around the table began reading the profiles. "Hold on," a man of long, reddish hair man with short stubbles and a ponytail said. "I see we have Turian squad-mates, one of them an… enhanced interrogations specialist," he said with a slightly worried voice. One could tell from the look in his small bloodshot eyes behind those huge glasses that he didn't like the notion of having aliens on the team. "Are you sure we want to have Turians with us? Who knows when they might turn on us and stab us right in the back?" he asked. "You make the mistake of forgetting that the Turians are about as homogenous as we humans are, Richards," he said. "There are plenty of Turians that have reason to work against the hierarchy… Ever since the High-Council of Palaven dissolved the provisional government of Palaven and made the Republic of Turia into the Turian Hierarchy, a lot of middle to higher-class intellectuals has felt disenfranchised" Monarch said "Not to mention the royalists, plotting to restore the king to the throne"

"So," the person next to Richards said, a blond man, with glasses and a square chin said. "What is the name of the task-force?" he asked. "You will be called '_the spiderlings_', in honour of my good friend Giffard. You will all be given appropriate codenames" Monarch answered. "Anyways, let's call it a day and follow up on this later. God save the King" he said and with those words the meeting came to and end.

Richards was collecting his stuff and ready to get out of there when Spooner approached him. He looked up at them and sighed. "What now?" he asked. "I was going for a cup of coffee with a couple of my friends. You wanna come?" he asked. "Just leave me alone, Spooner" Richards said. "Aww, come on. It'll be fun. For old times sake?" Spooner pleaded. There was little Richards wanted to do less than to hang out with Spooner, but he realised that he did not have much of a choice. He sighed. "Okay. But you're buying" he said. "Sure. No prob, mate" Spooner said with a smile upon his lips.

30 minutes later they found themselves at the café closest to centre bloc. Jae had alway found that it was a very nice place, though he didn't get out much. "Come" Spooner said. "My friends are right over here" he said. Spooner led Jae to a table where two middle-aged men sat, drinking coffee. One had a head of greying auburn and the other raven hair with silver streaks. They both wore business attrire and grey overcoats "Hey guys. How are you doing?" Spooner said and was greeted with a silent smile from the aubrun-haired man with huge glasses. He shook the other man's hand and sat down. One could tell that there was mutual respect betwixt these men. "Jae, would you please be a real chap get me an _espresso macchiato_?" Spooner asked. "Oh, and bring a black coffee, will you?" the man with the dark hair asked him. Jae sighed and went up to the barista. When he returned with their drinks they were already well within conversation and the dark-haired one had lit a cigarette. After a few minutes of small-talking the man with the dark hair said: "So, you must be Mr. Richards. I hear you're some kind of computer wiz"

"They say that you can crack any network; get in contact with anyone" he said. "You might say that" Richards said with a certain sense of pride. It was true; few hackers were as good as he was and he was known as a living legend in the cyber-criminal community. "I used to do a lot of free-lance work" he said. "Oh, like what?" the man with the nice overcoat asked, sipping on his coffee. "Oh, mostly greyhat work and so on... you know" Jae said. "No, I don't know" the man said. "Tell me about it".

"Oh, well it's not really that interesting, but I used to find flaws in companies' security systems and offer to fix them for a reasonable sum" Jae said. "Aha... I see... So what made you come to us?" the man asked. "A patriotic sense of duty?" "No" Jae said and laughed. "Monarch has hired me personally to take care of IT-security at ASIS. He seems to be satisfied with the work I do" Richards said. The man raised a brow. "You mean he gave you a choice between prison and working for us after you hacked into his e-mail?" he said. "Oh" Jae realised. "You know about all that?" "I know everything worth knowing about you and your crimes, kid" he said. "Now now, there is little point in being rude, Tim. We are all on the same side here" the man with the big glasses and the narrow face said.

"To me, a man who tries to hack into the e-mail of the Monarch is a traitor" the man said and toked his fag. He blew out smoke. "I could have you put in prison any time I wanted, you know that kid?" Tim said and starred Jae into his eyes. "You couldn't... I work for Monarch" Jae said. "I am the head of Clandestine Operations" Tim said. "Do you really think that Monarch cares about little shitstains like you?"

"But... but I have been serving you faithfully. I have done exactly as you have told me to. I am the best. You need me!" Jae protested. "We don't need you, you little shit" Tim said without even flinching. "We need loyal men, regardless of ability" he said and took a sip of his coffee. "We don't need traitors" he said. "And we get rid of all that which we do not need" he said and smiled a sinister smile at Jae. "Oh god..." Jae said. "I'm... no, please don't. I'll do anything you tell me to do!" he pleaded. "I don't need anything from a traitor" Timothy said. "No... I can't go to prison" Jae said and broke down crying. After a few excruciating moments, the kindly man spoke. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Timothy. There's no reason to send him off to gaol" he said. "There is, if he's disloyal" Tim replied. "Then, why don't we give him a chance to prove his loyalty to us, Tim? I am sure that the boy would jump at the chance to do just that" the kindly man said. "Yes! Let me prove myself! Please sir!" Jae begged of him.

"Well..." Timothy considered. "There is just this one thing you might do for me. But if anyone hears..."

"They won't! Please, they won't!" Jae promised, interrupting Timothy mid-sentence.

"I need you to establish contact with the remnants of the Turian Monarchy. We have decided that they will be our strongest allies in taking down the Turian heirachy. They need our money and ships and we need their spies. Go to your office and set up secure communication channels at once and arrange a meeting" Tim said.

"At once" the young computer expert said and ran off. Once he was out of sight, Spooner started laughing.

"Ha ha! The old _Mutt and Jeff_. Works every time"

"Whipe that smile off your face, boy" Timothy said with a stern look on his face.

"Do you think we intimidate people for the kicks of it?" he asked rhetorically. "Do you think I like scaring the living shit out og spring-green boys like that?" he asked and discared his cigarette "No. We don't do it because we find it amusing. We do it because we have to and because we're good at it. You'd better get used to that" he said. Spooner could feel goosebumps on the back of his neck. "Sorry, Sir. I only meant..."  
"I know... May god help you if you ever come to enjoy this line of work" he said and rose from his seat.

"Where are you going, Sir Fitzgerald" Spooner managed to ask as Timothy was leaving.  
"Away. I have a plane to catch in the near future"


	7. The Bastard and The Cutthroat

**Egor I**

"There, there… sit still" Artza said as she was rinsing Egor's wounds. Artza was as fine a wife as could be found in Batarian space and she was his. Many years ago, he had claimed her as a slave when he had raided the city from whence she came. She was a priestess of the Oten-cult and was made a kitchen-wench. In those days, Egor was still a bastard and when he grew fond of her, he was free to marry her. Now she was here with him in his chambers, lying with him, treating his wounds after battle. "Ouch!" Egor exclaimed as Artza pulled out pieces of shrapnel from his calf muscle. "Be done with it, woman," he snarled at her, a little more harshly than he had intended."Beloved," she said and kissed his neck. "I have to do this properly or the wound shall fester".

He clenched his teeth together as she continued removing pieces of metal and put them into a little metal tray on the bedside table. It was a hurtful wound, but the one that had thrown the grenade at Egor had suffered a much worse fate, one that had not given him the mercy of death by pistol-fire.

The chambers were simple and spartan, with very few ornaments or furniture. True Batarians did not believe in silk, gold and velvet. They believed in iron, blood and fire. Besides the simple wooden bed and the bedside table, the room did not contain anything but his armour, his spear and his rifle. A banner with the sigil of house Xian hung upon the wall – a varren rampant _or_ upon a black field with a chief _gules_. He looked upon the sigil with envy – he was the rightful heir to the dynasty, not his nitwit brother. But he had more honour than to plot against his own kin, even though he knew he easily could make himself the king of The Stars Beyond. He had the support. He had the men. It was _him_, who had conquered, it was _him _who had driven Xiao's enemies before him. Egor was even born before Xiao. The only reason the Iron Crown rested upon Xiao's head and not his own was because Egor's mother had been a concubine and Xiao's mother had been a duke's daughter. It mattered not. Xiao had granted Egor the lordship of Ujon, making Egor a proper lord.

"I don't think you should be fighting anymore," Artza said. "You are not as young as you used to be. Any one of these battles could be your last," she said and cleaned some soot out of a wound on Egor's back. "A widow's life is no life for me," she said and turned his face towards her. "My brother's foolish wars shall soon see an end. After a few defeats at the hand of The Citadel, he shall broker for peace and I shall come back to you and live merrily to the end of our days," he said and kissed her lovingly on her lips. "Maybe we'll even have a few children to fill our home. They'll be princes, you know," he said, trying to lead her unto other thoughts. She looked down into her lap. "But what if the campaign against The Citadel is just half-way successful?" she asked with a worrisome look in her eyes. "The struggle would last years," she said. "If it is Oten's will, you'll die. And if that is Oten's plan for you, I will not object. But I want to be there with you when you leave this world and if you ride vanguard as you have done in every single battle so far, I might not be able to" she said and shed a single tear. Egor embraced her and sat with her for several moments until she felt better. He kissed her.

When they were done, he jumped off her. He was hot and sweating all over. Hopefully her womb would quicken this time and give him a child. He went to the window, cooling his body in the evening's cold wind. He had taken her for hours. He always did after battles. He wished he could elope with her and get far away from Kar'Shan, his half-brothers, his king and his responsibilities. He loved her so dearly. She was not the fairest of Batarians; His brother had made fun of this fact many times over, calling Egor_, Egor Goatfucker_ and his wife _Artzen the Beauty_. Egor understood why his brother teased him so. Even though Egor himself had a maimed face and scars all over, women threw themselves at his feet. He was an honourable warrior, almost seven feet tall and built like a brick house, 300 pounds of pure muscle. His victories and daring tactical moves were known far and wide. Yet, his heart belonged to _Artzen, _the small heathen commoner of plain looks. And he did not appreciate when mocked her or her looks.

He remembered the day he had come to his father and told him that he was intending on taking the heathen servant as his wife. He had been drinking with his friends, the few he had, at the local tavern, building up courage for the fall-out he and his father were sure to be having. Old city of Saarguhl, the ancestreal hold of the House Gha'aniid to which Egor's father belonged, was busy and the streets were filled with song and dance. The King of the Kingdom of Palaven was visiting, trying to raise the levies of his batarian vassals to quell the Hierachists rebellion and so Aetus Vexos, the steward of the King and his three sons had come to Kwaigorr to gain the support of House Gha'aniid. Back then, the Archduke had been Fallan, older brother of Egor's father Xiao. Egor often thought to himself that he resembled his uncle much more than his father. Fallan had been monstrously tall and strong, yet not quite as much as Egor; he had been very smart and a worthy leader and administrator.

A tournament was being held in Aetus' honour, which was why Egor had decided to break the news to his father, the duke's marshall; Xiao was always in a good mood when blood was being spilled. He remebered how his younger trueborn half-brothers Balak and Yak had teased him as he passed through the stables where they were drinking ale in secret. This had made him more determined, however. He had wanted to prove himself to his younger, weakling brothers.

Oddly enough, Xian had not seemed angry or even disappointed when Egor broke the news that he wanted to wed the priestess.

_"A bastard freak like you are not going to secure me any alliances anyway. Let her be your punishment"_

His wedding day had been cursed too. Had very same day, Xiao and Yak had slit the throats of Aetus and Fallan both, proclaiming Xian Archduke and declared a war of independence against The Kingdom.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. "Who's there?" Egor asked.

"Lord Xian! Lord Ben Loawi and his squire and nephew Ben Goarkha! Your half-brother, Spymaster Balak, whishes to see you in the council chambers!" General Loawi cried. Egor sighed. Balak was the second-youngest of Egor's half-brothers and the least honourable. Rather than wielding a spear and thrusting it into the bellies of his enemies, he preferred wielding a dagger and thrust it into the backs of his allies. This was why Xiao had appointed him spymaster, the fool that he was, granting Balak much more power than he should ever have been granted. Egor sat down on the bed next to his wife, stroking her cheek tenderly. "I have to go see my brother, beloved. I'll see you later," he said.

Moments later, he was walking down one of the castle hallways, heading for the council chambers. He wore a blood-red tunic with chain mail underneath it and a black cape over it, held together with a chain of steel. He also wore leather gloves as he had lost two fingers in the last battle and the stumps were quite a nasty sight.

The castle was ancient indeed. That much one could tell when you walked around the castle. The stones were old and dusty and many different sections of the castle had collapsed. But this was where the Kings of Old had reigned and any king that wanted to be taken seriously had to hold Kar'shan. Xiao had already begun restoring the castle to its former glory, but there was still much to do. The roof needed repairs and the rain would come pouring in whenever the gods decided for it to rain and the walls were in no condition to hold back any larger host of enemies.

He arrived at the old huge wooden door of the council chambers. He entered the large circular room where the Large Council of Old had sat for several thousand years. In the middle of the stood a large round table. In the King's seat at the other end of the table sat Lord Balak, Egor's half-brother, Lord of Urrhen and Spymaster of the King. He sat leisurely back in the chair, which was way too big for him. Sometimes, it was hard for Egor to believe that he and Balak the Tiny were of the same blood at all, but then he remembered that they were only half-brother and that the mother of his half-brothers was quite a tiny being. "Well, well, well… If it isn't my favourite bastard brother," he said almost spitefully, but was just par for the course with him. "Speak the purpose of this meeting or lose your tongue, Balak!" Egor said wrathfully. "Ha! Don't make empty threats, dear bastard brother" he grinned with his crooked, yellow smile. "People will respect you less for it!" Balak said.

"You would not harm me, dear brother. A kinslayer you are not" he said.

"I may be baseborn, but I understand the importance of remaining loyal to one's own kin" Egor said. "Something you could use a lesson in".

"True," Balak Shrugged. "You have always been true to Brother, as you were loyal to our father," he said. "But what if your kin is not true to you?" Balak asked. "I call it by 'Balak', its name and distrust its lies," Egor answered. "Oh brother!" Balak laughed, revealing all his ugly yellow teeth. "You wound me! I am as loyal to this family as you are," he said. To Egor's great distaste, Balak wore the very same black cape and crimson tunic as Egor did - the colours of their house. "I too, am a warrior. But whereas you fight on the battlefield, I fight in the shadows, protecting the King from dangers he never even realised existed," Balak explained.

"You are a rake and cutthroat," Egor said. "You and I have nothing in common".

"Oh, but we do!" Balak exclaimed and rose from the chair. "We both like living," he explained as he walked towards his half-brother. "And we do not want to die". "I fear not death" Egor said spitefully at the mere suggestion that he feared being claimed by Othen, the great father of suns. "No, but you do not want to make your dear beloved wife a widow, now do you?" Balak said with a grim smile. "I admit; I am craven. I fear death. And I fear that our dear brother, the King plots to kill me," Balak said. "Spare me your lies, snaketongue," Egor said. "Our brother might not be the finest of men, but he is our brother. Having you killed would be kinslaying," he defended his brother. "Ahh… But as I've learned our brother is not the most honourable of men… and he has a secret worth killing for," he said and threw a document down on the table in front of Egor.

"What is this?" Egor asked, looking at the dusty old folder at his hand. "This…" Balak said and held a dramatic pause. "Is the reason we're attacking The Citadel". Egor skimmed through the document, page after page. What he read instilled a sense of horror in his heart. He could not believe his very eyes. Page after page, filled with numbers and transactions. A papertrail.

"Where… Where did you get this?" Egor asked in disbelief.

Balak looked at his hands. "A human by the name Ivan came to me with this document" Balak Explained. "He said he was working with some Turian. Asked me if we knew what all these money had been used for. I knew," Balak said.

"The fleet. All those hundreds and hundreds of ships," Egor said, awestruck at this new discovery. Something seemed very much awry.

"We should have figured something fishy was going on. Fleets don't appear out of nothing. I had wondered where Brother had gotten all those funds from. And apparently they came with instructions," Balak said. "I think whoever gave us all these money want us to attack The Citadel rather than uniting the Terminus," he continued. "And Brother seems to keep his end of the bargain…". Egor stood, looking at the many numbers and letters for a while before looking up at his half-brother. "This human," Egor said. "Is he nearby? I wish to speak to him," he said. Balak folded his fingers and looked away from Egor before answering. "Unfortunately, he was shot down in his ship while trying to leave the planet. Apparently, someone has mistakenly marked his ship as a hostile vessel and was gunned down by our planetary defences" Balak explained. Egors eyes widened. What a queer coincidence. "I see… but why is it had you fear that Brother might want you dead?" Egor said. "Does he know that you have obtained this document?" he asked. "I think he knows, yes. Unfortunately, not even the spymaster can keep everything a secret" Balak said and looked down at his feet. "Tomorrow, when we attack… I'll be in the vanguard. King's request".


	8. The King of Turians

**Yarren Pallin**

The cold halls were howling like mad wolves as the cold of winter blew outside the great keep of Nyranum. Yarren did not care much for the howling, nor did he care for the cold, that made his sinews grow stiff and his joints ache. In his youth, he might not have cared much, for in his youth he had been strong and fit. Alas, the years had taken its toll and all that remained of Yarren was an old and frail shadow of the man he had used to be. His eyes were but slits in his wrinkly face, his back was hunched and his hands trembled like leaves in the wind. His mind, however, was as sound as ever and his counsel was invaluable to the Young King. For for 72 long years, he had served the kingly family, giving counsel to three regents of the Turian Kingdom, serving his rightful masters. Now, however, villainous nobles had exiled their king and so the king needed sound advice more than ever.

Yarren had put on his finest robes. They were expecting fine guests from Citadel space, ones that might help the king reclaim his throne and get them away from this cold, cursed rock. He finished writing his letter, folded it up and sealed it with the king's seal. Then, he began his descent down the many, cold stone steps going down from his chambers to the throne room. It was said that Castle Nyrnanum was a castle of a million steps and stairs, though Yarren would sometimes feel as if it might as well have been a billion steps. His old weak knees could barely bear the strain of climbing the stairs.

The keep was old. While it was one of the oldest in the entire Kingdom, it had not been erected by the Turians. Stark and cold, it had been carved into the side of the mighty Mount Mulark in ancient times by a species native to the planet, that had died out long before the Turians had arrived there. The keep itself was 1250 feet high, and towered menacingly over one, when one approached it from the foot of the mountain, greeting you with its smile of a thousand white steps, that went up the side and led to the great iron gates. The king had been but a babe when he, his pregnant mother and his sister and their loyalist forces had arrived at the old abandoned keep, seeking refuge from the hierachists, who that murdered the king and crushed most of the royal army. The Young King had become a man grown since then, his mother had died, but not before giving birth to twins, one of which had been claimed by a fever after only three years of life.

After climbing a few more stairs than Yarren cared for, he finally arrived in the throne room where many of the king's guards and vassals were present. He were all wearing their armour and the colours of their houses, yet one could tell from the ragged condition of their attire that they had been in exile for quite a while. It seemed that Yarren had arrived just in time.

"Scribe! It is good to see you!" said the young king with glee in his eyes, sitting in his great stone chair. "My liege," the old man said. The young king donned the crown that his father had worn before him and his fathers before him. Yarren was surprised. The young lord had never worn the crown before, but he supposed that these were special circumstances. He also wore a fine suit of amour, with the intrinsic markings of the royal family upon it and a red cloak with a golden brooch. "My lord!" the old man exclaimed and knelt before his king. His boy.

"The Alliance's emissary should be here shortly, Yarren. I want you to greet him at the gates and lead him here. The gods have led him here, now let's pray he opts to aid us in our endeavors," the king said. He was only fifteen years of age, but he already spoke like a true king. Yarren had done a good job of raising the young lord, he thought to myself. "My lord," Lord Surr Bakkalon spoke, went up to the king, kneeling before him. "Speak, Lord Bakkalon," the young king said. "Are you sure it is a sound decision to accept help from the alliance? The are vassals of the Citadel" he objected. "How can we be sure that this is not just a ploy made to lure us out?" he asked the king. "The Humans may swear fealty to the Citadel, but they are as much enemies of the Hierarchy are we are. They have even met them in open war, not long ago" the young king said. "Surely, they thirst for blood and vengeance".

"My lord, we shan't need they help of traitors to reclaim your throne!" Lord Benron the Black of house Fell objected. "Yours is the divine mandate to rule Palaven and the Turian Systems and The Stars Beyond! The gods shall grant us the strength to take back what is rightfully yours!" he said with conviction as stern as his features. "Heard!" said Lord Yras Fell, cousin of Benron. "So many would claim," the king said and scratched his chin. "But unless the gods grant me men and ships, it has little worth to me" he said, silencing the lords. "Unlike the gods, the Alliance has promised that they would give me both as long as I gave them my coöperation. I intend to do so. Traitors or not, they will give us our homes back" he said. Yarren remembered the days, no longer than 13 years ago when his king, Valan VI Praxis had been but a mewling infant, a sickly little child with terrible nighterrors, who would often wet his bed. Many men had feared that the king would grow up to be a weak and craven lord, but the tutelage of Yarren had made the boy wise, the training with Sir Vickan Zorahna had made him strong and a brilliant strategist and the council of Lord Donor Exos had made him a competent and frugal administrator. One wouldn't have thought it, if one had laid eyes upon him all those years ago, but if any king would be able to reclaim the kingdom, it would be him. "Lord Benron Fell and Sir Otho Larharnax, go help Scribe Pallin with fetching our guest, who should be waiting at our gates at this very moment". "Yes, my king," they obeyed.

And so they would climb even more stairs down through the giant keep until they reached the gates, at which point Yarren's legs hurt so, he could swear they could fall off. "Guards! Open the gates!" Larharnax cried.

Many years ago, Larharnax had served his king faithfully, Yarren recalled. At first, he had been one of the most outspoken proponents of the monarchy in the parlairment and later he had been one of the most prominent generals leading the battle against the Hierachist forces, holding them at bay for a very long time. But he wasn't succesful in saving the monarchy, and the day the royal palace had been sacked, had been a great day of shame for him. He never quite forgave himself for being unable to do anything as the Batarian lords betrayed their king and slew him and his most fierce General, Lord Vexos, as they were visiting Batarian Space. Yarren could scarcely remember meeting anyone more honourable during his many years of servitude.

"So..." Benron said to Larharnax. "Have you heard about the fire in the east-wing of the third floor?" "Yes, tragic train of events. How many mustn't have perished in the fire? A terrible way to die, death by fire" Larharnax said. "It shall take us months if not years to repair. Let's pray we can return to our homes soon" Benron said. "With some luck..." Larharnax said. "We might just be able to".

The gates swung aside and the Alliance's envoy revealed itself outside. Yarren would have taken a step back in stupefaction if his legs had allowed him to; he had heard of the humans before, but not before laying eyes upon them would he ever have suspected them of having such grotesque manifestations. Their skin was pink and fleshy, and their mouths reminded one of the Turian's cloaca. A crown of fur rested upon their heads, but apart from their chins, the rest of their bodies were completely bald and unprotected.

The one standing in front of the others was clearly the leader. He wore odd clothes, that seemed as strange and grotesque as the species itself. A black tunic covered a white tunic underneath and around his neck, he wore an odd piece of cloth, tied into a knot at the top of his sternum. His head-fur was much slicker than the rest of the humans, and was slicked back. His eyes were blue-green emerald.

"Who seeks entrance?" Lord Fell asked the foreign dignitary. "Timothy Fitzgerald. I am here to treat with your lord on behalf of the Alliance"  
"Well met, friends," Larharnax greeted them. "Our lord is expecting you in the throne room. Come with us and he shall give you audience". The human and the guards escorting him stepped forward as to enter, but Benron bade them halt. "Just you, My Lord", he explained. "His Majesty welcomes you wholeheartedly, but he does not trust you enough to let you bring armed guards into his keep"

"Allright," the suave diplomat said, put a white stick in his mouth and lit it on fire. Smoke came out of his nose and mouth. Strange creatures indeed, to light incense inside themselves, Yarren though to himself. "Bowyer, you stay out here with the rest of the men. I'll be back in soon" the human said.

"Great. There's always waiting outside" the one called Bowyer said with gloomy resignation. The dignitary entered and was led to the Hall of Kings by the elderly scribe and his two companions. Later that evening, the knights and lords would feast in the knights' hall.

"A toast to the human benefactors!" the young Kaesyr Pallin yelled gaily and came to his feet with his cup raised. The hall roared as dukes, barons, knights and landless alike rose their cups and clanged them together in a traditional cry of "Arak-alum", _the king will live__. _Yarren's young first cousin, twice removed fell to his seat with a smile on his lips, wine on his breeches and a drunkeness to his eyes. Yarren drew a smile on his old, wrinkled lips; the young boys was like a mirror image of his grandfather, proud and strong, as a true warrior ought be.

The dealings had been long and tedious but after some time, the human had agreed to give the king a host of ships in return for three spies and the promise of support if a war should break out. The king had chosen Kaesyr Pallin, Benron the Black and Balor Vexos as those who would would be going back with the human. The turians were all happy with the prospect of soon having the chance to go home and so they feasted wilder than they usually did. The exception was the human, who kept calm as ever and didn't get merry with the rest of the gathering.

"Say, how fares things in The Kingdom of Turia?" Yarren leaned over to Fitzgerald and asked. "It has been a lifetime since I have seen the White Vales of Palaven and, well... ever since the... err... rebels claimed them, this solitary rock has been... err... my home, I suppose" Yarren said. There was no reply, so Yarren pressed on. "And an old man like me... cannot wander far from his home, you must realise" he said. Timothy took a sip of his wine. "You ask _me_, how things are in Palaven? Aren't you the Turian and I the Diplomat?" the human said, playing innocent. Yarren, however had heard whispers of this strange creature and the many spies at his employ. He didn't fool anybody. "Well, I understand that your trade is in... er... information, kind lord" Yarren said. The green-blue eyes turned to Yarren. He stared at him for a few seconds before saying anything. "Ah" he said with a slight grin. "I see that my reputation precedes me" he said. He turned his head away from Yarren, scanning the crowd. "Well, what is it that you do here at this castle?" the man asked. Yarren felt puzzled at this. "I? I am the First Scribe and Master of Exchequer for The King" he said proudly, boasting a bit more than he knew he ought to in front of strangers. "Yes, but what is it you do here at this court? What gives you the right to be here at the court of the mighty king and not at the nether levels with the commoners?" the strange man asked Yarren. "My good lord, I am not of low birth" Yarren asked, taking slight umbrage at the mere implication that he did not belong at the King's side.

"Seeing how most of the Turian nobility had to flee the Hierachist rebellion, I am sure that most of those living down there are of noble birth too" he said with a sinister grin upon his lips. Yarren looked him right back in the eye. It was true. Most of those toiling in the mines below or living in the poorer quarters were all of noble birth. Lower nobility, but nobility none the less.

"Talent," the man said. "You take care of the king's finances for him and you have talent for it; this is why he keeps you at court" the man said. Yarren remained silent, rather awestruck at Fitzgerald's bold statements. "Do you think he would keep you if you took care of the alliance's finances in stead of His Grace's?" the man went on to ask. Yarren didn't answer. "My job is to answer my master's questions. Questions like 'how fares things in The Kingdom of Turia?' or 'how many Turian ships are currently stationed at Paranax Station?'" the human said and laughed slightly. Yarren could feel something sinister about this one. He had an aura of evil to him- Yarren wanted to spit at his feet, but he restrained himself. "And I do. I have a talent for doing so. This is why they keep me and pay me in plenty. I like being kept and paid in plenty" the spymaster said. The threads of silver running through his raven mane almost hissed at Yarren him like white vipers as he spoke. "Do you think they would keep me and pay me if I answered your questions instead?" he said, starring Yarren deep into his eyes. Yarren spoke to him no more.

Yarren excused himself and left the feast. It was getting late and he tired quicker than in his youth. On the way back to his chambers, the though he heard a sobbing coming from Hall of Heroes. And surely, when Yarren investigated, he found the young boy king at the foot of the statue of Valan the Clever, second of his name. Yarren had often found the boy here in his infancy, when the boy had become sad and wanted to escape the court for a brief moment, hiding amongst the statues of his great forefathers. Earlier the boy had done his duty and seemed like a king when he had treatied with the human. But now he showed himself to be the boy he truly was. "Valan. I thought I might find you down here" the old man said. The boy looked up and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Dammit. Hi Yarren" the boy said. "What troubles you my grace?" the old man asked. "Dammit Yarren, I just wanna go home already. I'm tired of living in hiding. And now I'm sending some of my best and most valiant men out to what surely must be certain death" the king said. "Such is it to be king. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions. Even the most golden crown has thorns, your grace" Yarren said. The old man Yarren sat down next to the young king. "Do you know whose feet you sit at right now, my king?" Yarren asked. The young king looked up. "No... Is it Urron III?" the young king asked. "No boy, it is not" Yarren said. "He is your namesake and great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Valan the Clever, first of his name, father of Urron III and Valan II" he said and pointed to two other statues. "son of Urron II" he said and pointed at yet another. "great grandson of Kwellon the Liberator" he said and pointed to the oldest and biggest statue in the room. "Do you know of his deeds, young boy?" Yarren asked. "Remind me" the king said and dried his eyes once again.

"After the death of his father, Urron II, at the hands of the King of Turia, Malan IX, Valan the Clever declared war against a kingdom that was twelve times as large as his own. But Valan understood that he couldn't meet the enemy armies in the field - so he didn't" the old Yarren said. "Instead he made a mighty fleet of ships, that could beat the fleet of any other kingdom. He ruled the skies. And so he would hold the planets of Turia in a stranglehold, raiding trade lines and and denying his enemies to leave their planets" he explained. "The seige was long and painful but after 12 years Monan III, son of the late Malan IX, had to surrender one third of his empire to Valan" Yarren said. "He lived for 67 years and begat 7 children" Yarren said and rose. He began walking down the Hall of Heroes, adressing the statues of each king. Valan followed him. "His first son, Urron III also expanded a little upon the kingdom, taking some Batarian vassals as the first Turian king ever to do so. He died issueless, however, at an age of just 41" he said, resting a moment before he went on past the next statue. "So the crown passed unto Valan II, his younger brother. He lived for 71 years and begat 4 children" he said. "he was succeded by Urron IV, who was known as 'the Builder' or 'the Kind'. He was a good king that cared for the common man and buildt many great buildings. When he died, the elective chose his brother as king, as his sons were too young, and so Kwellorr II was crowned" Yarren said. The next statue had two kings holding hands. " Valan III and Urron V, known as the 'cousin kings'. When Kwellon II died at age 57, Valan III, his nephew and son of Urron IV, was crowned. Valan III conquered the rest of the Turian Empire, but died in battle. His son, who was still a toddler, was denied the crown and it went to his uncle, Urron V, who was born to Valan III's twin sister, Hara. Urron ruled until Kwellon III came of age, which is why some consider Urron V's reign a continuation of Valan III's" Yarren said. "Kwellon was a weak king, and the realm divided in half under his rule. He died when he was 43 years old. His son Valan IV took over, but died of consumption. The realm was cast out into a 12-year interregnum until Valan V took over and united the Turians with his strengh and tactical genius. He was perhaps the greatest of the Praxis kings, and all loved him. He heard of strange artifacts littered all over the universe and therefore he ventured the stars in the quest for these. Here, he fell in love with a lowborn crewmember of his flagship, who was known as Gwendel the Fair. Your grandmother" Yarren explained. "And though the marriage was most unorthodox and many objected to it, they loved each other. And Gwendel gave birth to 5 children, your father, your three uncles and your one aunt. Your father, Urron VI was a great man. But he fell in love with a woman that was bethroed to another, which proved to be his undoing. The undoing of a kingdom" Yarren said rather dimly. "But you need not fear young king. The blood of great men flows in your veins. With the blessing of the gods and the honour of men you shall regain your kingdom and take back what is yours" Yarren said. He went up to an empty pillar next to the statue of Valan's father's.

"And if the gods are just, a statue of you shall one day rest upon this pillar, my young king"


End file.
